Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home
by samdeco
Summary: It wasn't grief, sadness, anger or relief, though all of those things played their parts. What shook everyone most after the battle was the realization that things were going to be different now, and picking up the pieces wasn't as easy as knocking them down.
1. Battle Scars

_**Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home**_

**Prologue**

The voice of Lord Voldemort echoed through the grounds of Hogwarts so that it was impossible to be shielded from his slow, silky voice. "Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

"The battle is won. You have lost half your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the boy who lived is finished." (Rowling, 728).

Ginny froze. She heard the voice of Voldemort continuing to speak, but she didn't, she couldn't, comprehend any of the words he was saying.

All at once, the doors of the Great Hall opened, and led by a cackling Bellatrix Lestrange, a group of Death Eaters marched gleefully into the room. People were moving forward, not yet daring to believe Harry was dead. Then the enormous, clamorous sobs of a half-giant were heard, and Hagrid marched sadly through the great doorway. Harry Potter's dead body was lying limply in his arms.

Every part of Ginny's body hurt. She felt weak. She wanted to sink to the floor, like a girl she'd seen earlier, and beg to go home and be held by her mother.

The room was silent. So silent it pounded against Ginny's eardrums, and time was moving in slow motion. Neville Longbottom stepped from the crowd, defying Lord Voldemort.

Ginny heard him yell, "Dumbledore's Army!" and she heard the cheers from the crowd in response.

Voldemort was talking again, and his voice was laced with imminent danger.

Then, many things happened in quick succession: Neville was on fire; he pulled the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat, which sat in flames on his head; he swung it menacingly at Voldemort's snake; and the snake lay dead at Voldemort's feet.

"Where's Harry?" someone yelled loudly. Hagrid's arms were empty, and Harry was gone.

The hall broke into chaos, and Bellatrix headed straight for Ginny. She was shooting curses left and right, which barely missed. Ginny was fighting back, but it didn't matter. Voldemort had won; Harry was dead. She battled Bellatrix with a certain sort of ease, for it didn't matter much now, they were all going to die, but they had to keep fighting till the bitter end. Hermione and Luna sprang to her aide. Ginny could only think of the ones she loved. Fred was dead. Harry was dead. Remus. Tonks. Mad-Eye. Every curse she dodged, every hex she returned was only bringing her closer to avenging the people who had suffered at the hands of these evil people. Dumbledore. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. Ted Tonks. Sirius. Cedric. Harry's parents.

A killing curse sent straight from Bellatrix's wand narrowly missed Ginny. And then, Ginny's mum was dueling Bellatrix. With a final slash of her wand, Bellatrix fell to the ground, exiting the world with a cackle of mirth frozen across her face.

And then from the crowd sprung a man who was supposed to be dead. It was Harry Potter.

Ginny hardly knew what to feel. Her heart ached with the weight of so many emotions that had been building inside of her for so long that she was going to explode.

The crowd parted, taking positions on the edges of the Great Hall. Harry and Voldemort remained in the center of everything. Circling each other around the stone mosaic of the Hogwarts crest on the ground. Sizing each other up. Deciding who was going to make the first move.

The pressure in Ginny's ears and throat was building, so she could barely hear it when Harry shouted, "Try some remorse, Riddle!"

The two wizards both cast spells at the same time. It was _Expelliarmus _versus Voldemort's killing curse. Ginny couldn't watch, but she couldn't bring herself to draw her eyes away either. The entire hall didn't dare breathe.

Voldemort's wand flew through the air toward Harry, who caught it with the agility of a seeker. Voldemort was dead.

The crowd froze for what seemed like hours. The impossible had just happened. Harry Potter, who had once been the skinny little eleven-year-old who didn't know he was a wizard, had just defeated the most evil man of all time.

After the collective pause, during which Harry lowered himself exhaustedly toward the ground, there were cheers and screams of joy. Harry was swept up with a mob of elated wizards who were each trying to pat the infamous Harry Potter on his back. It was so loud that Ginny couldn't have heard anything anyone said even if she wanted too. Everyone was swept away in surreal celebration. If any Death Eaters were still around, they had chosen this moment to escape, unscathed.

Ginny felt a waterfall of happiness, pride, and relief crash through her. All was well now; things were going to be okay.

* * *

**Chapter 1  
****Battle Scars**

Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. The past year at Hogwarts, nothing but rain and clouds had plagued the enchanted ceiling. Its powers had been significantly weakened by the dark magic that had run amuck around the castle.

The four tables of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin had returned to their original positions, and everyone was with his or her family, mingling and celebrating with others, and mourning over loved ones.

Through the windows that lined the hall, Ginny could see young students outside tossing grapes and fresh fruit into the enormous mouth of a very happy Grawp.

The Weasleys, who took up almost a quarter of the Ravenclaw table, were all gathered around Molly and George who were the most distraught about the loss of a son and a twin respectively, despite their insistence that they were fine.

Ginny had had her head rested on her mother's shoulder for most of the morning, but she moved down the bench a bit to allow room for well-wishers.

Ron and Hermione sat across from Ginny, and Ron's hand was placed awkwardly around Hermione's waist, and Harry was nowhere to be found. The last time she saw him he was with Ron and Hermione walking out of the Great Hall. She'd only caught a glimpse of him before he threw his Invisibility Cloak over his head. She was minutely worried Harry actually had found a hot mermaid girlfriend on his journey, and he'd forgotten all about her.

Ginny had already taken the time to congratulate Neville, who was surrounded by half a dozen girls—including his grandmother—who were also congratulating his bravery. Seamus Finnigan and Lee Jordan had been making their rounds around the hall. Dean Thomas had been with them but had disappeared mysteriously when they went over to give their best wishes to Ginny.

"Your mom is a total badass," Lee muttered under his breath at Ginny who cracked a weak smile, "I know you Weasleys always said getting on her bad side was a big mistake, but…I never thought—" He glanced toward Molly, shook his head slightly, and moved on.

By about noon, Ginny had become impatient. She knew Harry must have been exhausted, but she hadn't even had a chance to see him yet. Why hadn't he come to talk to her yet? Why hadn't he even acknowledged her presence? Where had he run off to anyway?

"Where's Harry?" she asked Hermione, slightly more aggressively than she'd intended.

Hermione kissed Ron lightly and giggled before saying, "Harry? He was in Dumbledore's office when we last saw him. I told him to go to Gryffindor Tower and get away from all of this." She gestured to the masses of people, still celebrating, crying, and hugging. She continued, "You should probably go and check on him. Make sure he's okay." It was more of an order than a suggestion.

Ginny was about to question as to why Hermione didn't go look for Harry herself if she was so worried, but she realized Hermione what Hermione was hinting at. Harry would be upset; Ginny was always the rock in his topsy-turvy life. She got up from the table, slightly sickened by the sight of her brother snogging her best friend. It was also kind of endearing. Ginny had been saying for years that Hermione would end up with Ron.

When Ginny finally found Harry, he was sitting in an alcove in the wall near his bed; his face was turned away from her, looking out the window across the great grounds of Hogwarts. Ginny understood more than Ron or Hermione ever had: Hogwarts was Harry's home. It was his one true oasis, a place where he felt safe and comforted in times of immense distress. In a way Hogwarts was a home to every young witch and wizard, but to Harry, it held a grander place in his heart. Ginny had a home and a family to go home to during the summer holidays, whereas Harry had no one but his horrible aunt and uncle. Well not anymore.

Harry was unaware of Ginny's presence in the room. She slipped silently toward him across the dormitory. She slipped her fingers into his open hand, and slid down behind him, curling her body around him and giving him comfort.

He slowly turned to face her. His face was bedraggled and broken, very different from the one he'd been wearing when she saw him last. So very different, and yet, it was familiar; it was the same face she'd known for the past seven years. She stared into his tear-soaked green eyes, which resembled his mother's, or so she was told. They were shimmering with something more than tears. They looked broken, hurt, vulnerable.

For once Harry had let down his façade of toughness and let Ginny see inside. She saw where his heart was. She saw that every feeling he had expressed, out of love or anger had been true. Harry was a whole lot stronger than she'd thought. And she hadn't thought him faint of heart either. They sat in the windowsill for hours, as the day grew longer.

By mid-morning, Ginny had placed a locking charm on the door to the boys' dormitory, and the two slid over to Harry's beloved, red and gold four-poster. They lay there, curled around each other while Harry unsuccessfully attempted to drift to sleep. Ginny helped this process along by muttering a sleeping charm, feeling that they both deserved a break after the previous day. Finally, they drifted to the world of no realities, where they could find a few hours of peacefulness together.

* * *

"I'm not asking you because I want to know," Ginny said, "Because honestly every bit of this scares me just as much as it scares you. I just think you should tell someone you trust, now. Don't keep it bottled up. Get it out, and then it can't plague you ever again."

Harry was clasping Ginny's hand; his hand was sweaty in hers. His hand was always sweaty when he held hers. Ginny thought it was adorable that he still got nervous when he was near her. The initial excited nerves of a newly dating couple had never quite worn off. He had by now been freshly cleaned and laundered, but he still bore a multitude of abrasions and bruises that made his skin look raw and tender.

They made their way around the edge of the Black Lake. Its expansive banks blossomed with May flowers and everything was in full bloom. Even the Whomping Willow, a tree known to mutilate any unlucky student who stepped too close to it, had sprouted a bud or two. For the first time in a long time, the sky was bright and cloudless, and the sun brought heat to Ginny that warmed her to the core. It was like Mother Earth had willed this day to be good.

Harry was looking at Ginny in amusement.

"What are looking like that for?"

Harry smiled as if sharing with himself an inside joke which only he was a part of, "Nothing. It's just…it's funny. Dumbledore once told me the same thing. That night after the third task, he said he could give me a potion that would let me sleep dreamlessly. But he also said if I didn't tell what happened, get it out of me you know, that the pain of it would become too great to handle."

"Was he right?" Ginny stared up at him.

"I think so. At least, Everything…that I felt…that night…I still felt…but I didn't have to talk about it again, you know? I could sort of be at peace with things."

Harry and Ginny walked for another hundred yards or so, "But I want this to be completely private."

"_Expecto Patronum!_" he cried raising his wand. It was like greeting a familiar friend when Harry's silver stag, a twin patronus to his father's, leaped out the tip of his wand. It ran a few yards behind them, ready to take care of any prying ears and eyes.

Ginny found it easy to conjure up a happy memory with which to make her patronus out of. She thought of Harry, her family, Hermione, Luna, Neville, and the DA. The familiar silver horse galloped from her wand with almost no effort.

"Are you sure though, Ginny?" Harry asked. "It's an awful story really."

"I think so," Ginny said. Her heart was beating quickly and loudly, not with anticipation but with fear.

They chose a spot under an old elm tree. It had been one of their favorite spots last year when Ginny had been studying for O.W.L. exams. It provided the perfect amount of privacy from the rest of the grounds so that a quick hug and kiss here or there would go undetected by anyone who wasn't spying on them. They sat on a soft, cushiony patch of grass under the shade of the tree, and after a few minutes of silent staring across the glassy Black Lake, Harry began.

He started as far back as he could remember: the miserable days of going to primary school with his cousin Dudley who used Harry as the mole in his demented games of whack-a-mole. He continued on to getting his first letter about Hogwarts. How Hagrid had to come and burst down the door of a house in the middle of a sea to tell Harry he was a wizard. Harry described his first visit to Diagon Alley, where everyone seemed to know who he was, and when he received his wand, how curious that was. How, that night, Hagrid told him why he was suddenly a famous boy wizard, why he was the-Boy-Who-Lived, and how You-Know-Who was the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time. He recounted his trip to King's Cross and told about the redheaded witch who had kindly told him to run through the brick wall to get on the train to get to Platform Nine and ¾. Ginny got warm fuzzies inside her when he said he remembered a pretty girl there that day, hidden amongst all the red-haired boys. "Liar, you didn't notice me," she whispered with a smile. He told of the boat ride over the seemingly impossibly grand castle in which he called his home for the next seven years.

Ginny looked at the castle now. It was still as big and held the same grandeur that had shocked her the first time she'd seen it, riding across the black lake only a year after Harry. But now, under the stress of the battle, its walls were crumbling; the clock tower had fallen completely. The entire front of the building had started to crumble, and the towers and turrets, which had seemed to be held up by magic which, Ginny remembered, they probably were, had fallen, broken, or crumbled. It had lost the luster she had once known it to possess.

Harry's story and his words drifted in and out of Ginny who was trying to soak it all in. She began to realize how very real the threat of a Dark Lord who sought desperately to kill you would be.

When Harry spoke of his second year at Hogwarts, Ginny's first, she had to bite her lip to keep from crying. Harry explained how bad both he and Ron felt when Hermione was petrified, and then when they found out that she, Ginny, was going to die in the Chamber of Secrets if they didn't rescue her.

They scooted toward the edge of the lake just as Harry was telling her about the Maurader's Map.

"You knew about this piece of skullduggery, and you never told me?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows.

Harry shrugged noncommittally.

Harry only stopped talking when Ginny conjured a goblet of water, which she forced him to drink from. He gulped up the water gratefully and with a flourish of her wand and a muttering of, "_Aguamenti!_" Ginny refilled the goblet. She brushed a bright blue beetle off of her knee and watched it take flight in the breeze.

While he drank, slower the second time around, Ginny removed his shirt. Harry had put on the same one he had been wearing for close to a week now, and it was still covered in grime and blood from whenever he last changed it. She dipped it into the cold water of the lake and attempted to scrub some of the dirt off it.

Harry was currently telling her about his fifth year. This was the year Dolores Umbridge worked as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and a terrible teacher she was. Ginny snatched up his right hand where the words "I must not tell lies" were engrained into his skin, faint but still clearly recognizable. Harry didn't try to tug his hand away or hide the marks. They were a type of armor for him, his battle scars.

Ginny took moments to locate each scar. They were the marks he bore out of bravery and love. There was the octagonal mark on his neck where the locket Horcrux had tried to strangle him. There was a pretty severe crescent moon shaped scar that stretched across his calf. Something had burned through his skin. She traced the mark to the right of his heart: a small, oblong circle was where Voldemort's most recent killing curse had hit him. And perhaps the most renowned of them all, Ginny looked at the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, which he had received as a toddler when he had survived Voldemort's killing curse on a different occasion.

For a man who had every right and reason to want to crawl up into a ball, crumble to bits, and never face the world again, Ginny thought Harry was the most whole and loving person she had ever met.

Harry finally reached the end of his story. The two patronuses still patrolled the grounds behind them. His voice was scratchy and worn, and his glasses were lopsided. Ginny's eyes glistened with tears. She wiped them on her sleeves and tried to smile, to be strong for Harry.

"It's okay," said Harry staring into her eyes. He ran his hand through the back of her hair, "It's okay."

Ginny bit her lip and buried her head in the folds of Harry's shirt. His black hair, which was much longer than Ginny remembered it to be, fell down to his shoulders and tickled her face. She leaned upward to kiss him slowly on the lips.

Ginny had thought most people were brave before she knew Harry had given his life to save everyone he cared about.

"Ginny?" Harry asked minutes later. He had been staring across the lake but turned to face her and stared intently into her eyes, "I love you."

It was the first time he had said it. Ginny's heart ached. "I love you too," she replied, failing miserably at sounding anything less than a soppy, old mess. And again their lips met.

"We have forever you know," Ginny said, "We can do whatever we want. I mean I have to go to school next year, and you have to become the world's most famous auror, but after that . . . we've got forever."

"Sometimes I wish," Harry started, "Sometimes I wish the world would just leave us alone."

Ginny punched him lightly on the shoulder.

Harry looked up at her in shock, "What was that for?"

"Harry the world is never going to leave you, or me, or anyone that helped yesterday alone," Ginny said in utter seriousness, "_Especially_, when you've just got finished saving them.

Harry pressed his hand to his head, feeling the lightning bolt indentation on his forehead.

"Do you feel it, now?"

Harry rubbed the scar. "It's weird, y'know?" he said. "For the past four years it's always felt like, like . . . something. Whether it tingled, burned, or throbbed. It feels like I've lost circulation, or someone's cut off a limb. I suppose it's all for the better but —" his voice trailed off into the stillness of the Black Lake.

They sat staring across the depths of the lake for a few more moments, maybe hours. Ginny looked at Harry once or twice and recognized the look of guilt etched into his face. _No, _thought Ginny, _he'd be barking to blame himself for anything. _Deep down in the depths of her subconscious, she knew that Harry did indeed blame himself, but she knew he wasn't ready to face that part of him yet. It would be a battle when he did.

As the sun was setting, they undid their patronus charms and went back up to the castle to be swallowed whole by the world of people who would want answers. Ginny wasn't quite sure if Harry was ready to give them out quite yet.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading. If you would please leave a review that would, that would be really nice of you. And remember, J.K. Rowling owns this world and I don't.

* * *

**Samantha**


	2. Sunday Evenings

**_Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home_**

**Chapter Two  
Sunday Evenings**

For the wizarding world as a whole, the following days were a time of celebration. Exactly like last time, Mr. Weasley told Ginny. There were rambunctious parties, wizards in full sets of robes perusing the streets, and owls everywhere. Flying through the skies in broad daylight, the owls delivered messages of celebration, hope, and happiness. Surprisingly, the Muggle Prime Minister had worked extra hours to ensure that none of the strange behaviors made it to muggle news.

Not all was well though. Ginny didn't quite know how to feel yet. Her emotions were running in every direction and she didn't know which one to follow. This must have been how Cho Chang felt all the time. On one hand she was feeling an immense amount of relief: Voldemort was dead, and he was never going to haunt Harry's or anyone else's dreams ever again.

On another, Ginny was feeling extremely depressed and sad. Her brother Fred was dead. She still could barely believe it. Fred had been so outgoing, so happy. He was always there to make her laugh whenever she was upset. It seemed so impossible that he, or any of the Weasleys for that matter, would ever not be there. And of all the things to die from, a stupid wall had to come and crush him. The thought made Ginny furious: walls didn't kill wizards; wizards killed wizards.

Ginny was also experiencing a new level of elation. Love. Ginny had always loved Harry but never as much as she did now. Now she knew that Harry loved her back, and it made her feel like the happiest girl in the world.

Her body was physically feeling numb, like it had lost the ability to feel at all. But her mind was running rampant: she wished the pensive could bottle all the emotions she was feeling as well, if only to take the weight of them off of her chest for a while.

She imagined it must be a thousand times worse for her brother, George, who had lost not only his twin brother but also his closest friend. She saw something different in him now, not sadness but confusion. The twins had been attached at the hip since birth, so for George it must feel like losing a part of himself. He rarely talked to anyone, and if he did, it was just a few short words, nothing close to the animated conversations that came so easily to him before.

The entire family had moved back home to the Burrow. It felt nice to share a room with only Hermione now. Ginny and her parents, as well as various other members of the Weasley clan, had sought refuge at Aunt Muriel's house for the first five months of the year, and Ginny thought she might die if she had to spend one more night sharing a room with Aunt Muriel, her cousin Alfreda, and their combined symphony of snores.

Harry and Ginny were sitting at the end of the burrow's long breakfast table along with Ginny's mum and dad, Ron, Hermione, Percy, a forlorn George, Kingsley, and Charlie, who decided to stay at the Burrow after the traumatic events that had taken place recently.

Kingsley, the temporary minister of magic—though Ginny's dad had already predicted he would be the permanent minister in no time, was up to his ears in troubles.

"First we have to sort through every ministry staff member: find out who's friend and who is foe and who was under the influence of the Imperious Curse," Kingsley explained over breakfast.

Arthur Weasley, an original member of the Order of the Phoenix and a good friend of Kingsley's, had been appointed to Kingsley's right-hand man. The Ministry of Magic was in a tough position right now. For the past year, Death Eaters and dark magic had infiltrated the Ministry. Now, it was up to Kingsley, with the help of members of he Order, to sort through every last person, office, and quill to make sure it wasn't possessing dark magic.

"We'll also need a team to travel to Askaban," Kingsley continued, "We have a pretty solid list of the names of wizards who are supposed to be there, and those who aren't. The hard part is convincing the Dementors to let so many souls free, uneaten."

"I'll gather a team and take care of that," said Percy, so pompously Ginny was reminded of the times before he was lost to the ministry. The thought made her want to laugh.

It seemed to be harder for Ginny and Ron to just pick up where they left off with Percy. In Ginny's mind, Percy had betrayed them, and there was no forgiving that. Her mum had told her if she still loved Percy, then forgiving and forgetting would be easy. But sometimes Molly Weasley's affection for her children blinded her from the truth. And forgiving was much easier said than done; Ginny knew that Ron agreed. Ginny's dad had agreed with her somewhat: He said it was probably easier to forgive a child than a brother. He wisely suggested that Ginny shouldn't forgive or forget, but just move forward and try not to judge Percy to harshly because he really was trying to make up for lost time.

"We also have the trouble of trying to find the Death Eaters that fled that night," Kingsley's deep voice spoke. "And there's the Malfoy Trial."

After the battle, the Malfoy family, well known for being high-ranking Death Eaters, had not fled Hogwarts after Voldemort's death. As far as anyone knew, they were still living at their house, Malfoy Manor.

Ginny knew Harry didn't want to see them go to jail. She knew Narcissa, Draco's mom, had saved Harry's life, and that was the reason Voldemort was dead. But she also knew that it had been Draco who was meant to kill Dumbledore, Lucius who had been Voldemort's right-hand man for so many years, the Malfoy family who had abused and eventually killed Dobby, and it was the Malfoys who had given her the piece of Voldemort's soul that had possessed her, caused her to open the Chamber of Secrets, and almost killed her there. Ginny thought they were blantantly guilty and deserved at least a decade or two in Askaban.

She snapped out of her thoughts and back to the kitchen quickly when she noticed Harry staring at her.

"You want them behind bars," he stated, so that only Ginny could hear.

"Sorry. I know they saved your life, but they pretty much ruined it too," Ginny whispered back. Maybe she wasn't yet mature enough to understand Harry's reasons, but she knew in her heart he would always defend an innocent person before he would let them suffer. Harry Potter could not let himself be in debt to anyone; it was one of the things she loved about him, but also something she couldn't stand.

"As for the media," Kingsley spoke. "I've ordered the reporters to stay out of the way for thirty days. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep them away. But if anyone tries to bug you before the end of June," Kingsley spoke, "You come and talk to me about it."

Kingsley continued, "There's also the matter of you three." He pointed toward Ron and Hermione and then to Harry: "Hermione has already told me she plans on finishing her seventh year of school before pursuing her career, but Harry you've expressed ambitions of wanting to become an Auror…as quickly as possible."

"Yes, Kingsley," Harry nodded, staring deeply into his toast, as if it was giving him inspiration. "Ron does as well."

The attention was directed away from Harry and toward Ron who was red-faced and looking properly embarrassed.

"Blimey, I didn't know you wanted to be an Auror, Ron?" Charlie spoke, looking half amused, half impressed. Apparently Ron hadn't informed all of his family members about his aspirations, yet.

"Er, yeah…well I guess…I guess I do," Ron said sheepishly.

"Of course you do, Ron," said Hermione affectionately as she squeezed his hand. Ginny had been waiting for years for Hermione and Ron to finally get together, but if they kept up this awkward lovey-dovey stage much longer, Ginny would have a bone to pick. It was like watching Won-Won and Lav-Lav all over again.

"Well if you two are sure you want to do this," Kingsley said sternly, "And you'd better be damn sure because training to be an Auror will be extremely rigorous, then I don't see why we can't get you into the next training session, September first."

* * *

It had been one week since.

Things were far from settling back to normal though. Right now, everything was fragile. As Bill had explained it, when he and Fleur visited for Sunday dinner, Voldemort's job was partly completed when he died. Voldemort's goal was to purge the world of muggle-borns so that only wizards of pure blood remained. He only got as far as the Ministry, which was the core of the magical world. And, as Bill put it, he blasted the Ministry into pieces the size of grains of sand. It would take the Ministry decades of time and great amounts of stress to piece back together what Voldemort spent most of his life tearing apart.

It was Molly Weasley who suggested the Weasleys started a new tradition: Sunday evening dinners, mandatory for every Weasley plus Harry and Hermione and occasionally an old Order member. At first, Ginny thought her family had went along with the idea only because Molly was still grieving terribly over her losses.

"Do you think she'd be upset if I brought Heather?" Ginny heard Percy mutter to Charlie as she was cleaning the lunch dishes. Ginny was wondering whether doing them by magic would set of the Trace that plagued her for another three months, but she stopped when she heard Percy mention a girl's name that sounded somewhat familiar.

"Heather?" Charlie questioned, louder than he should have. Apparently he hadn't completely forgiven Percy yet either. "Who's she?"

Ginny's mum had been right outside the open kitchen door, tending to her garden, and Ginny watched her become still. She was curious too.

"Who's Heather, Perce?" Ginny asked. She couldn't help herself. Percy deserved a little humiliation, right?

Percy turned a bright shade of red that only a Weasley could master when they were angry, "No one. Forget about it."

"Who're we forgetting about?" asked George morosely, as he moped down the stairs. Ginny was surprised to see him. He'd spent the last few days holed up in his room doing nothing but drinking Firewhiskey; maybe his supply had run low.

"No one!" Percy exclaimed, "No one at all!"

"Percy, is she your girlfriend?" Ginny coaxed mirthlessly, "I think you would've let on a little more by now if she wasn't."

If it was possible, Percy turned redder going on purple.

Harry and Hermione ran down the stairs too, sensing the disruption below.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend Percy," Harry said innocently. One look at the sparkle in Ginny's eyes told him she was yanking his chain.

"I do _not_, Harry, thank you very much," Percy said in obvious frustration. He removed his glasses and wiped them with the hem of his wizard's robes like he usually did when he was stressed.

"Oh please, tell us about her," Molly said, her chin was rested on her folded arms, which lay on the open windowsill. Ginny's mum must have been standing on something to see inside.

Percy made to leave the kitchen, but Arthur and Charlie were blocking the doorway. He looked furious.

Ginny was excited: the last time Percy had had a girlfriend was in his fifth year, Penelope Clearwater.

"Fine! Her name is Heather," Percy said.

"We'd gathered as much Perce," Ginny taunted; for some reason, it felt good to make him feel bad, since she'd been feeling so crappy lately.

Percy was going to kill her later.

"We met about around Christmas," Percy said, "She was an assistant at the Ministry. Kind of like I was when I started."

The room suddenly became tense.

"Oh, but you mustn't think she's like me at all!" Percy said, "She's a whole lot nicer than I ever was. Her parents are muggles you see, politicians. She was bound to be into politics and work at the ministry. She's not into dark magic or anything like that. In fact, she's perfectly lovely."

Percy nodded smugly. The corners of Ginny's mouth twitched with amusement. She knew it would be overkill to continue taunting him.

Luckily, they were all saved an awkward moment when Ron, who had been doing who knows what for the past few minutes, walked into the kitchen.

"Who is perfectly lovely?" he asked confused.

Everyone laughed, and Ginny noticed George slip from the scene unnoticed.

The sun was setting. It sank lower in the sky, a large, enchanting orb that cast an orange glow over the world. Two wooden tables were placed in an L-shape on the side of the house closest to the kitchen door. Chairs of every shape and size from all around the house were placed around the table, which was set for thirteen: the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, _Heather_, and Andromeda Black and her grandson Teddy.

Harry and Molly had insisted Andromeda come. Teddy was, after all, Harry's godson, and Harry hadn't gotten to see the baby yet.

Ginny was in her bedroom, sitting at the little white vanity her brothers had sprung for the year they all had finally went off to Hogwarts leaving her alone with Mum during the days. As she brushed her hair, she stared out the second-story window to the scene below. Her mother was in her element: bustling around trying to perfect everything and putting to work anything that could move and think for itself. Hermione was bewitching glowing pink flower petals to float around the table set. Ron followed behind her like a reliable puppy, probably giving her a compliment from a book Ginny had found in his room last year called _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. _The clock that hung on the wall next to her poster of Gwenog Jones read 6:54. Her family would be arriving soon.

She headed down the stairs, hopping from the third to the last step to the landing in between floors. There was a bathroom off this landing and the door never closed completely; today even, it stood slightly ajar. Ginny caught a glimpse of Harry, standing at the sink with a gift he had gotten from Monsieur and Madame Delacour for his birthday last year, an electric razor that would give him, "The cleanest shave 'e 'as ever 'ad." His beard had gotten quite scruffy in the past year. She thought Ron might have been jealous.

Ginny continued downstairs, hopping from the fourth step up to the main floor. She went through the archway that led to the kitchen, and out the screen door to where the rest of her family was.

"Charlie will you go get George?" Molly asked her second eldest son.

Charlie had been in a cherry tree that grew close to where the outdoor tables were set up. He leaped from one of the topmost branches down to a cushiony patch of grass on the ground. He wobbled on the landing and used his large hands to propel himself upward to a standing position. He dropped a crumpled piece of parchment on the ground by mistake.

"Sure mom," he said and went past Ginny into the house. Molly hadn't seemed to notice the scrap of parchment on the ground.

Ginny walked over to the parchment, curious as to why Charlie would be writing anything, he was always the more outdoorsy type, not putting much emphasis on reading and writing.

Ginny picked up the paper. It was Charlie's all right, his handwriting was as poor as a six-year-old's.

_Dear Lenka,  
__It's Charlie. I'm alive and in good health. I've decided to stay here though, for a while, at least until after the funerals. I also think we should stop seeing each other because—_

The letter ended here. Ginny stared at it in confusion. Who was Lenka? The name didn't sound English, so it was probably a friend from Romania. Not just a friend, a girlfriend. Why hadn't Charlie mentioned anything about her before? Ginny knew contact with her brother was limited, mainly due to the distance between the Burrow and Romania, but it wasn't nonexistent. And Charlie, who definitely wasn't a lady's man, surely he would have mentioned something if even a glimmer of a relationship popped into his life.

The mysterious letter sparked questions in Ginny's mind, but she pushed these thoughts to the back of her brain upon the arrival of Bill and Fleur. She shoved the note into her shoe, and went to greet her sister-in-law Fleur, a French beauty of whom Ginny had taken a liking to in the past year.

"Eet is tres excellent too zee you!" Fleur said in her heavy accent. She wrapped her arms around Ginny before moving to embrace Molly in a warm hug.

"We brought some bwa-la-bas-cey," Bill told everyone.

"Bill!" said Fleur strictly, but with an adoring smile on her face, "'Ow many times do I 'ave to tell you? Eet's pronounced Bouillabaisse!" (bool-y_uh_-**beys**)

Bill rolled his eyes, but smiled at her.

George and Charlie came out of the house. George looked rather reluctant.

There was a loud crack, which announced the arrival of Andromeda and Teddy Tonks.

"I'd better go get Heather," Ginny heard Percy mutter as he raced toward the Burrow's gate to Disapparate.

Though Ginny had only seen Andromeda once before, the change in her physical appearance was blatant. Her resemblance to her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, was now more pronounced. There were purple smudges under her eyes that suggested she hadn't slept in days. Her hair had grown long and tangled with grays and silvers interwoven, and the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were much more pronounced. She still bore the signs of a loving mother and wife, but the happiness in her face was now written over with lines of stress, grief, and loss.

Almost at once, Molly rushed toward her. Everyone else stayed back; they hadn't even been sure Andromeda was coming. Ginny supposed her main reason for showing was because Harry was Teddy's godfather. She stood awkwardly, lingering near the door. Her face was stony, and she looked defeated.

The afternoon snaked it way to a purple shade of twilight. The dinner, as if anyone dared suspect otherwise, had been delicious, and every Weasley sat with their chair pulled out from the table, and their belt buckles loosened a notch or two. It was the first time anyone had truly eaten since, then.

Andromeda had propped herself in a corner where, for the most part, she had been left alone. Harry did go over to her though, to finally get the chance to meet his godson, Teddy.

Teddy Tonks was a bouncing, happy baby. Ginny had only met him once, when he was just two days old. She remembered Lupin holding the baby so that everyone could see his turquoise hair and face like his mother's. She remembered Lupin looking younger than he had in years and much more put together than he had been even on his wedding day.

Harry was shooting golden sparks into the air with his wand, a light show for giggling Teddy whose hair was colored a sunshine-y yellow today. He was so good with the baby. Even when Teddy had burst into tears, Harry picked him up and snuggled him, his voice was so gentle and pure. Even Andromeda gazed at him, her eyes softening in admiration. One day Harry would make an excellent father to their—Ginny shook the thought from her head. She couldn't get too far ahead of herself.

Andromeda left soon after, after Molly had insisted that she go home and sleep. The Weasleys would take care of the baby for the night. Andromeda had protested initially. But Molly finally persuaded her to go with, "I've had s-s-seven beautiful babies. I think I can handle this one for one night."

Molly smartly waited until Andromeda had Disapperated to burst into tears over Fred, again. And once again, George seemed to melt from the scene whenever mention of his twin brother came up.

Bill, desperate to make conversation, said, "The Malfoy Trial is coming up in August I've heard…I also heard you're a witness, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry lowering his wand. His grin was wiped off his face.

"But why would the Malfoys want _you _to be witness to them, Harry," asked a confused Mr. Weasley. "From what I gather you aren't exactly on the best of terms."

"We've met somewhere in the middle," Harry said with finality, making it clear that the conversation was over. Apparently, Harry hadn't told everyone of Narcissa's gift to him. He wasn't questioned further because Teddy Lupin had started crying.

"Oh my gosh!" Harry exclaimed as his eyes widened in horror, "What did I do, Mrs. Weasley?"

"It's Molly, dear," Mrs. Weasley said comfortingly, "And you didn't do anything. Babies cry all the time. Maybe he soiled his pants. Why don't you take a look?"

Harry held Teddy at arms length and carefully pulled out his nappy as if it might explode. He gagged slightly, "That is definitely soiled."

"Let's get this baby changed and to sleep," Molly said heading straight for Teddy.

"I think we'd better get going too, dad," Bill told his father.

"Eet was nice to see you," Fleur said graciously. She went over to Harry and kissed him once on each cheek before hugging him. As they embraced, Harry glanced at Ginny. She stuck her tongue out playfully at him. Fleur also gave her best wishes to Ron, at which Hermione turned bright red, which Ginny noticed even in the dim, rosy lighting.

Once everything was put back in its proper place, and everyone had started to head to bed, Harry pulled Ginny to the first story landing with the bathroom with the faulty door handle.

He leaned over her for a kiss goodnight.

"I still love you," he breathed, tangling his fingers in her hair.

"I still love you too," Ginny replied, embracing him.

The door knocked open and Ron was standing there in his pajamas holding his toothbrush. Harry and Ginny forced themselves apart.

"Uh, sorry," Ron said, he nudged his way through the gap they had made and turned on the faucet. Harry looked ready to murder his best friend.

Couldn't Harry and Ginny get at least one kiss in without Ronald ruining it?

* * *

A/N: Another chapter here, then gone. I would say that like acne or cheese if you wait it'll get better, but that's for you to decide. (And just so you know, it probably won't get any better than me comparing my story to acne and cheese. :) Please leave a review, I do reply to them, even the constructive criticism, and I don't bite. Thank you so much for reading!

I also wanted to take a moment to recount to you a crazy, vivid dream I had in which I was Lily Luna Potter as a kid, and other members of my family were other Potters. We were in my basement and there were Death Eaters there who had brought with them Voldemort's dead body which had been somehow enchanted with Avada Kedavra so that if you looked into Voldemort's eyes you would die (So like a cross between an Inferi and Medusa). Anyway, instead of Avada Kedavra, the Death Eaters called it an Avada Cadaver. I am so weird sometimes…

**

* * *

Samantha**


	3. Forever With Us, Forever Gone

_**Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home**_

**Chapter Three  
****Forever With Us, Forever Gone**

Wednesday. That would be the day of Fred's funeral, announced Mr. Weasley solemnly.

Ginny felt guilty. She shouldn't have been happy this past week. She had lied to herself. She'd convinced herself that everyone was happy. She thought that her family was coping well. She thought Harry was doing well. Ginny thought she herself was happy. This was not true.

It was blatantly obvious to her now. The past week she'd been swept away in some sort of fantasy, maybe they all had. Stress was a funny thing. It could make you feel things that weren't true. Her body had lied to her, ousting the emotions she didn't want to feel. But now she had to face them, and it hurt her worse than ever.

She saw it in the faces of the ones she held dear. Sadness. Loss. Depression. Guilt. Confusion.

She could barely stand to look at them for fear of crying. It was hard for Ginny to cry. Not because she was heartless, but because tears made her feel weak. Maybe she was just mental, maybe she still needed to grow up and learn how to cry.

The last time Ginny had cried at all was sixth year in the first week back at Hogwarts. She had gotten in trouble with Amycus Carrow for running her mouth again. He snatched her red hair in his dirty hand, and dragged her to the front of the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' classroom by her neck.

"Pretty little girl, you are," his breath reeked of whiskey; his face lingered inches from her ear. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you," he breathed as his eyes searched her face.

Ginny heard shouts of protest from Gryffindors mixed with a few jeers from the Slytherins, but she wasn't paying much attention. Amycus was focused on her with a sort of greed; he wanted her to feel pain.

"Wouldn't dare hurt _Ginny Weasley,_" he spoke slowly, with mock sympathy. "After all, if we killed you, Harry Potter would be upset with us, wouldn't he? He wouldn't like that. And its our job to keep _the Chosen One _happy. Because he's going to save us in the end, isn't he?"

Amycus Carrow had crushed her by her shoulders and shook her, "Isn't he? Answer me girl!" he screamed. "Crucio!"

Ginny had collapsed to the floor writhing in pain. It was all she could do to keep from crying out. This was how it felt when Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom, she had thought. This was how it felt when Voldemort tortured Harry. The pain stopped as quickly as it had started. Ginny was lying in a heap at Carrows's feet. Ginny tried to draw her breath, but it came shakily. The tears sprang to her eyes, and before she could swallow them they crashed clumsily over her cheeks.

"You've been warned, girl," Carrow said gruffly as he wrenched her from the ground and threw her to the back of the classroom where she regained her seat next to Demelza Robins. "That goes for the rest of you too!" he screeched at the class.

Ginny snapped back to reality by the sounds of heavy sobbing. There was the shadow of a figure sitting on the second story landing. She could only see a mane of bushy, brown hair tied in place with a hair tie, and the backside of a woman breathing unsteadily, Hermione.

Ginny slid down next to her and placed her arm around Hermione's shoulder. It was how Bill had comforted her the night before he went off to Hogwarts, and how Charlie had done when he didn't want Mum to know he gave Ginny a black eye playing Quidditch when she was six. It had always made her feel better, so it seemed like the best way to go.

Hermione's sobbed eventually evened out and she finally spoke, "It's Ron."

Ginny was calm, and she tried to be very gentle when she said, "Now what did my big prat of a brother do this time?"

Ginny knew from many nights spent with Hermione at the beginning of fifth year, when Ron was dating the little frou-frou, Lavender Brown, that the relationship of Ron and Hermione had always been an up and down one.

"He thinks I d-don't understand how he feels," Hermione said, starting to cry again. Hermione was not one to wear her heart on her sleeve, but when she did get going she could go on for ages, kind of like Ginny's mum.

"He s-says I've never lost a b-brother before, so I should j-just butt out!" Hermione cried.

"What did you say?" Ginny asked wondering how her brother managed to be so insensitive sometimes.

"I told him he was stupid," Hermione said firmly, "That F-Fred was just as important in my life as he was in his, and I felt just as sad ab-bout it as he did!"

Ginny started shaking, no one had dared mention Fred's name in the house since. Only once had Ginny's dad, when he was telling the mason what to write on Fred's headstone, and even that had brought everyone to tears.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Ginny," Hermione said when she felt Ginny shaking, "I didn't mean to—"

"M'fine," Ginny tried to disguise the lumps that were forming in her throat, "Really, I am. I mean we can't go around not saying…not saying Fred's name forever can we?"

Inside Ginny felt that it would be all right to never say Fred's name again, and it would save a whole lot of tears, but she shrugged the thought away.

"Thirsty," Ginny excused herself from the scene. She raced back upstairs to her room to bury her head in her pillow and cry out every emotion that had vexed her for the past nine days. After that, she would cry out every emotion she had felt in the past sixteen years of her life. She would cry until she was just a hollow carcass, free of any feelings.

A great while later, Ginny stopped crying. It was instant to, like she had run out of tears or something. Her throat was parched, and her stomach was growling ravenously. She dried her face with her pillow, and stood up. Crying really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. She hardly felt better. On her way out the door she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that made her look again. Another reason she didn't like crying: she looked a fright. Her eyes were blotchy and red, and her nose was running. Her face was streaked with beads of wetness that had slid down her face.

* * *

Tuesday night came and went faster than you could floo yourself to Flourish and Blott's and back. A growing sensation of dread was welling up inside Harry. He had a demon inside himself that he couldn't seem to shake.

Harry knew that Mr. Weasley knew he was feeling guilty. He also knew that Mr. Weasley had been trying to talk to him for the past several days. He'd lain low, only coming out of his room for mealtimes and to help Mrs. Weasley with household chores which she insisted wasn't necessary.

Harry thought he could handle being with Ginny, but he really couldn't. He could barely stand being in the same house with any of the Weasleys. He knew that they blamed him for Fred's death. No matter how much they denied it, no matter how many times they told Harry he should feel happy right now and not guilty, he still didn't believe them. He could have saved Fred. If he had done things differently, if he had been a little quicker, went to Voldemort a little sooner they might still all be alive. They had died fighting for him: Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Mad Eye, Sirius, Colin, his parents, Dobby. They had all died for him, and he was responsible for their deaths. It was a thought that would probably haunt Harry until the day he died.

Currently, he was sleeping in Bill's bedroom. It felt strange to be sleeping alone. Privacy wasn't a feeling he was used to. There had been eight months of camping, sharing the same small tent with Ron and Hermione. And before that, he'd been sharing a room in the Burrow's attic with Ron. At Hogwarts, he shared a dormitory with four other boys his age. In fact, it had been years since he'd slept alone. Not since he'd lived in the cupboard under Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's stairs. Even at the Dursleys, number 4 Privet Drive, he could always hear the faint cooing of his snowy owl, Hedwig as he lie in his bed.

Oh, Hedwig. Hedwig had been the one dependable friend in his life. She'd been there for him more often than any of his other friends. She accompanied him on summer holidays back to the Dursleys, delivered messages to Sirius no matter where he was, and would always lend an ear when he needed to talk to someone.

Harry felt hot sloppy tears slide down his face in mourning for his beloved bird. The tears soon turned to full on bawling for Hedwig's sake. He remembered the day he'd received Hedwig. Hagrid had bought her as an eleventh birthday present, the first proper birthday present Harry had ever received. She'd come in a shiny brass cage, her feathers groomed and clean as fresh snow.

"Hedwig," he said aloud.

Harry heard a light knock on his door, then a pause.

"Uh Harry?" The voice of Ron Weasley drifted through the thin wall that separated them. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes if you want to come down?"

Harry quickly cleared his throat and dried his face even though Ron couldn't see him: "Uh sure, in a minute."

He heard the Burrow's well-worn floorboards creak as Ron walked across them, and then went downstairs.

Harry rubbed his eyes and pinched himself. He pushed open Bill's bedroom door and stood in the doorway.

"You're completely mental, Harry," he muttered to himself, "Get a hold of yourself. You're crying over a damn bird."

"Talking to yourself isn't necessarily a sign of sanity either," George said softly. Harry noticed him for the first time, hovering in the doorway of his room.

Harry grinned foolishly. It wasn't that George's joke amused him, maybe he wasn't even trying to tell a joke at all, but it had been so long since he had heard George speak at all, so he felt he had to smile.

George continued down the stairs right past Harry and down to the ground floor. The moment was over. Harry followed suit.

"…Crying over his damn bird, Hermione…" Ron's voice carried halfway up the stairs to where Harry stood. He paused, listening.

"I think he's gone mad."

Harry could see Hermione standing at the end of the kitchen closest to the stairs. She was laying out plates for dinner. She paused and bit her bottom lip like she always did when she was thinking.

"I don't think so," was her reply, "You know Harry. He always blows things way out of proportion."

"But it was his bird, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, "Hedwig died last year! If he can't keep it together over his owl imagine what'll happen to—"

Ron's voice stopped severely quickly. Harry saw George stalk past the stairs toward the living room, shaking.

Hermione sighed before whispering, "We can't keep doing this every time he comes up—"

Ron cut her off weakly, "Just for now, okay? Let's get through tomorrow and see what happens."

He walked across the kitchen and grabbed Hermione around the waist. She looked giddy as she leaned upward for a quick, clumsy kiss.

Harry was pushed forward as Ginny shoved past him on her way down the stairs. He wanted nothing more than to run to her, swoop her up and kiss her. He realized now that he couldn't. There would always be that little part of her. The part that blamed him for everything that happened. He shouldn't have told her anything. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Harry was responsible for the funeral that was being held tomorrow, the funeral of Ginny's brother. How could she even bear to look at him after that?

* * *

Wednesday had arrived more quickly than Ron had anticipated. There was more than one reason he didn't want to get up out of bed.

There was hole in the attic roof that had never gotten repaired, from when a tornado whipped through Devon years ago. Ron looked out it and saw the bright sun streaming through it, a cloudless day.

He groaned. Today wasn't supposed to be happy. It was supposed to be terrible. There were supposed to be storms and floods, maybe even a forest fire and a tsunami. He didn't much care which natural disaster, just as long as he didn't have to remove himself from his bed and start the day.

At least the weather would be bad in Australia; it was winter there. If there were something that would make him marginally more motivated to get his arse out of bed it would be Australia. Hermione had informed him that she would be going to Australia with an Auror, to revive her parents from the Memory Charm she had cast on them close to a year ago. They would be leaving in exactly one week.

They had been out in the orchard in the Burrow's backyard, walking through the scattered apple trees when Hermione had insisted Ron come along. "You can get away from all the crying for a bit," had been her exact words. He knew Hermione meant well when she said it, but her words stung him. Before he knew it they were at each other's throats, just like old times. He yelled something about Hermione not understanding what it felt like to lose a family member and a brother. He hadn't really meant it. It was just in the heat of the moment. Before he knew it, her eyes were full of tears, and all he saw was the back of her hair as she fled back toward the house.

Since then, Ron and Hermione had made amends, Hermione still a little hostile, but still in need of a hand to hold when she explained to her parents what she had done to them.

Another thing that made Ron anxious to remove himself from his bed was the fact that there was a spindly spider that had made its web between two rafters in the attic ceiling above his head, and it was now hanging by a silver strand inches above his head. Oh bugger, he hated spiders.

Ron carefully dragged himself from the bed so as to avoid contact with the eight-legged creature. He put on a button down white shirt—pre-ironed and starched by his mum, a Chudley Cannons Quidditch tie which had been a gift from Charlie for Christmas four years ago, and a shabby black blazer that had once belonged to his dad. He ran a comb through his shaggy hair before he ran downstairs for breakfast. Mum would probably force her kitchen shears on his and Harry's hair before this afternoon.

Ron was surprised, when he went downstairs, to find Charlie, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry already up and dressed in black. Though a heavy sleeper, he usually woke up before Ginny and always before Charlie, who didn't usually rise until breakfast was being cleared.

Everyone was very quiet. The only sounds heard were spoons clanking inside bowls and cereal being chewed in mouths, but even this was done at the lowest possible decibel.

Ron slid into the bench next to Hermione and poured himself a bowl of Pixie-O's. It was then that he realized his mum hadn't joined them for breakfast.

She arrived ten minutes later in full Molly Weasley mode. Whenever she was in this kind of mood, which happened about twice a year, it was best to leave her alone. It was advised not to even acknowledge her presence.

"Ginevra!" Molly's first victim was Ginny. "That dress is far too skimpy! Go change right now."

"This dress is not skimpy! It's summer!" Ginny retorted, "And besides, I don't have anything else to change into."

"Go! Now!" Molly snapped, "Put a sweater and some tights on at least!"

"But it's summer!" Ginny grumbled quietly to herself.

"Don't you _dare _sass your mother, Ginevra!" Molly yelled.

It was going to be a bad day.

"Good morning, Molly," Arthur calmly told his wife.

"Arthur!" she bellowed, "Why are you wearing that coat?"

"You picked it out for me last night," admitted Arthur, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Merlin! I told you that that coat had a hole under the left sleeve and _not _to wear it." If he didn't know better, Ron would say his mum was trying to impersonate his Great Aunt Muriel. He wondered for a moment whether or not Muriel would come to the funeral; she and Fred hadn't gotten along too well.

Harry was the next victim of Mrs. Weasley's wrath, "We need to cut that unruly hair of yours," she said. Ron noticed she wasn't nearly as bossy with Harry as she was with the others, but he wasn't in the mood to be executed by his mother so he kept his trap shut.

Molly searched through her drawer of kitchen utensils, looking for the scissors, "_Accio_," she murmured and they flew to her hand in a swift manner.

She pulled a chair to the center of the room and gestured for Harry to sit in it. He obliged without comment and glanced at Ron as though asking for help. Ron smirked a little, shrugged and took the opportunity to escape from the kitchen unharmed.

* * *

Ginny sat on her bed facing the closed door. She had carefully avoided looking out her bedroom window because of the congregation gathering in the backyard below. She also avoided looking at her reflection in her vanity's mirror, for she knew if she saw herself, dressed for the funeral of her brother of only twenty years, she would burst into incessant tears yet another time.

Ginny breathed deeply in, like she had seen her father do so many times before when he was stressed, angry, or sad. It didn't make her feel much better. Parents shouldn't have to bury their kids, especially when their kids haven't even grown old yet. When Ginny was little, she had thought dying was only for old people. She had been very, very wrong.

There were two soft taps on her door. Ginny watched as the handle turned and the door was opened. It took two tries because Ginny's door always got stuck if it was closed all the way. Arthur Weasley came into the room and looked at her. He didn't speak, but his gaze comforted her a little.

She noticed George, standing behind their dad. In recent days since, George had cowered from every situation that had involved contact with people. Like a chameleon, he slid from situations he didn't want to be a part of.

Ginny got up and smoothed the space of bedding she had previously been occupying. She was dawdling, waiting until the last possible moment to face the funeral. It had been hard enough watching Harry and Andromeda break down in sobs at Remus and Tonk's funeral. Now, it was her turn to do the crying.

Ginny turned and walked dignifiedly out of her room. Arthur was already walking down the stairs. His face was turned away, but she saw a tear graze the contour of his cheek. Ginny fought to keep herself together for George, who was shaking. She reached out for his hand but caught him somewhere near his elbow, holding him awkwardly as she led him down the stairs.

The scene was beautifully somber. It took place in the backyard of the Burrow. Golden chairs were arranged to face away from the Burrow where the casket was. It was a closed-casket ceremony. Ginny had only seen Fred's body once, and it had shaken her. He looked like he had been crushed by a wall, then chewed up by Hagrid's three-headed dog, Fluffy. Never in her life had she seen Fred so helpless. He had always been the strong one, the outspoken voice, the person of reason, a person she could go to. She knew he was wearing a green and magenta suit: the colors of the joke-shop which had been his baby, and he had worked so hard to make a success. A small grove of pear trees was magically conjured in a semicircle behind the casket. Off to the left, a podium stood.

A soft lethargic breeze tumbled over the members attending the funeral.

The speaker was a tall, fair skinned man with a booming voice. Ginny had never considered herself a particularly religious person, but she clung to every last word he spoke about Fred being with God now and looking down on everyone with a smile on his face. It was what she wanted to believe. He spoke about how Fred was always with them, in their hearts, in their minds, even in the mundane day-to-day tasks that brought memories to them. A line that really resonated with Ginny was that death was not about how you exited the world. It was about the way you had lived your life up to that point.

When the speaker finished talking, he asked anyone who wanted to come up and say a few words. Molly, who had already been crying silently into a handkerchief, burst into loud tears for her son. Ginny distinctly remembered the last time her mother had cried in the backyard. It had been the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding, when Harry, Hermione, and Ron left.

Ginny's heart broke when she saw George shaking, struggling with all his might to hold it together. _Fred wouldn't want this,_ she thought, trying to fight yet another fit of crying. Fred would have wanted them to be happy not to mourn what was lost. _It's the mark you make on people while you were alive that matters_, she thought confidently. _But that only makes it hurt worse when you're gone, _she admitted to herself.

A slew of people spoke on behalf of Ginny's brother: Hagrid, a few Gryffindors in his year, Professor McGonagall, some Weasley cousins, and even Oliver Wood who was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain when Fred and George were in school. Everyone had pretty much the same things to say about Fred. They shared their memories and thoughts.

The last person to go up was Luna Lovegood. Her sky-colored dress was a classic 'Luna' garment, not at all what the average person wore to a funeral.

"I just wanted to say that," Luna's light voice was pinched with sadness, and her eyes, which were usually brightly protuberant, were today a shallow, murky grey. She started again, "I just wanted to say that…as well as being an admirable leader, an excellent wizard, and a brave, brave man, Fred was also a friend. He was one of my best friends actually. That's why it's so…hard to see him go. I just have to believe that now he's in a better place, and wherever Fred is, I hope he's happy."

By now, everyone was a weepy mess. It was the shortest, sanest speech Luna had ever given, and it was extremely touching.

The grave had been dug already, in a tiny graveyard at the Ottery St. Catchpole Parish Church. The walk there was short, only about ten minutes. At the beginning of the procession, Bill, Charlie, Arthur, and Percy were carrying Fred's casket. They had chosen to do it the Muggle way, partially because of the International Statute of Secrecy but mostly out of respect for Fred.

Ginny could feel her exposed cheeks burning under the hot May sunlight.

Finally, they reached the graveyard. Chills shot up Ginny's spine. She definitely wasn't ready to do this.

The casket was lowered gently in the ground. There was a pause, as if everyone was unsure what to do next. The dirt was still freshly dug, and lying in a pile next to the grave.

Minerva McGonagall stepped forward. She waved her wand and a single pink carnation fell upon the casket. Luna stepped forward and added a sunflower next to Minerva's flower. Hagrid's pink umbrella conjured a mum. Soon, everyone was coming forward to add his own flower to the mix. Ginny decided upon a pink tulip. The effect of all the flowers was quite amazing. The wide variety and array of colors were the perfect touch for Fred Weasley.

When everyone was done, the dirt flew back into the hole and a simple stone headstone with red and gold accents formed over the grave.

_Fred Weasley 1, April 1978 - 2, May 1998  
Forever With Us _

* * *

A/N: I know, I know the funeral is sad. Just had to get through it. I realize Harry has gone bonkers in this chapter too, but he has problems coming to terms with the fact that he isn't responsible for any of the deaths that may have occurred when someone was helping him. And yes, before you ask, things will definitely get worse before they get better. It's the natural order of things. I hope the longer chapters aren't too tedious to get through; they're a lot longer than I normally make them, but I kind of like writing greater lengths, so I think I'll stick with it.

I also just realized I'm posting this on April first. Happy birthday Fred and George!

* * *

**Samantha**


	4. Baby Steps

_**Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home**_

**Chapter Four  
Baby Steps**

Hermione had packed and repacked her trunk about a million times. She really didn't know how to approach this. For almost a year now, her parents had been oblivious to the fact that they had an eighteen-year-old daughter. She had no earthly idea how she was going to explain any of this to them. Now, she was even regretting asking Ron to come along, she didn't want to overwhelm them with too many new things in one day. After all, they hadn't seen her in what seemed like forever.

She'd read all about Memory Charms last summer, when she actually performed the spell to alter her parents' memories and make them think they were an ambitious couple named Wendall and Monica Wilkens who wanted more than anything to move to Australia. But just to make sure, she consulted an old teacher, Professor Flitwick, to be certain reversing the charm would go as planned. If everything turned out alright, Alan and Nancy Granger's memories would be returned to them, but, in addition to the memories being restored from the past fifty years of their lives, they would also still remember almost everything from the past year. In short, Hermione would have a lot of explaining to do.

Hermione sighed. She missed her parents dearly. She still felt that she fit better in the Wizarding World than she ever did in the muggle world, but Mum and Dad were her family, and she still loved them. Besides, Harry would never forgive her if she threw away her relatives just to save herself an awkward conversation. She had been through many rocky times with her parents, who insisted that just because she had the ability to use magic didn't mean she should use it as a 'quick fix' to any of her problems.

Hermione finished packing her muggle clothes in the trunk and buckled the brass clasps on the outside. She thought about levitating the trunk to the front door but decided against when she remembered her parents' opinions about magic.

She lugged the heavy trunk off Ginny's bed and wheeled it around the door to the stairs. Now for the tricky part. Each stair groaned when the trunk beat down on it; it sounded like someone was falling. Hermione tried an assortment of methods to try and lift the trunk, but it wasn't coming off the ground. The trunk probably weighed close to a hundred pounds.

"Oh come on," she heard Ron say from somewhere on the second story. "_Locomotor Trunk!_"

Hermione barely had enough time to flatten herself against the wall before the trunk sped down the stairs, turned on the landing between the two stories, and raced down the stairs again in the opposite direction.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped harshly, "Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry," Ron muttered sheepishly.

Hermione melted immediately. Ron hadn't been himself lately; maybe it would be good to get him out of the house for a bit. There was too much misery at the Burrow lately. "Sorry," she murmured.

"So we're leaving after dinner tonight?" Ron asked quickly.

Hermione nodded, "But, um, before we go there's something I have to talk to you about."

"You don't want me along?" Ron blurted.

"No! Why would you think that Ron!" Hermione asked. Ron shrugged.

"I wanted to tell you that my parents are Muggles, so we have to be careful about using too much magic around them. Especially when something can be done just as easily the Muggle way. And that means no _Locomotor Trunk!_"

When Hermione recited the incantation she heard her trunk downstairs, banging wildly against the door as if it wanted to get out of the house.

"I'll try," Ron said. "I suppose we'll be travelling there by Muggle transportation too?"

Hermione grin was forced; it was going to be a long plane ride.

* * *

Molly Weasley was hit with a rush of heat when she opened the oven door. The waved her wand and the steaming Shepard's Pie rose into the air and landed gracefully onto the stovetop. She finished tossing a salad and placed it on the table. With another flick of her wand, the cabinets flew open and the plates and silverware danced their way to the table and set themselves.

Cooking dinner was one of her favorite times of the day. It gave her time to think things, time that she didn't get often due to having such a full house. Today Molly was reminiscing about a time, not so long ago, when Bill was just a year old, barely old enough to walk. Life had certainly been simpler then.

She remembered asking Arthur if he wanted another baby. Of course Arthur said yes, his job at the Ministry was stable, and they loved Bill so very much. Another baby would make a perfect addition to the family. Molly became pregnant almost immediately and nine months later Charlie Weasley was welcomed to the family. That's when things started to get more complicated: twice as many nappies to change, twice the amount of crying, and only twenty-four hours in the day.

Molly had never necessarily wanted to have a huge family. She remembered the third child, how excited they'd been to welcome young Percy to the world. Every few years it seemed, there was a new addition to the family.

After the twins were born, Molly couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to have a baby girl. One more, Arthur agreed, but then they were finished. He was busy enough at work, and the paycheck that had been more than enough for the family barely covered the costs of food and clothes now. Ron came along, and Molly was ecstatic to have another healthy baby. But she was finished; no more babies. Years of having a baby in her belly had taken its toll on her back, and the slender figure she had once maintained was now blossoming with unwanted kilos.

It was quite a surprise when, seven months later, Molly found out baby number seven was one its way. She talked with Arthur for hours, wondering how they could afford it with only Arthur's paycheck supporting the nine of them. When Ginny was born, Molly was overjoyed to finally get her wish: a baby girl. Still, Molly's and Arthur's stress levels were certainly tested with the extra child to handle.

But they had made it. She still had six, Molly bit her lip, but decided she'd cried way too much in the past week. She still had six healthy children who weren't children anymore. They were all grown up now. Ginny would be attending her last year at Hogwarts this fall, and Molly assumed she'd celebrate with a much-deserved nap.

* * *

Ginny knocked on George's bedroom door. She hadn't been inside George's room for ages. Not since last year at least. She didn't hear George respond, so she knocked again harder. No answer.

Ginny had been feeling sorry for herself and needed someone to talk to. Ever since Fred's funeral, Harry had been distant. More than distant actually, he'd everything short of ignored her. If she were in the kitchen, he would go upstairs. If she wanted to talk to her dad, he suddenly had to take a shower. At mealtimes, he'd sit as far away from her as possible, that was assuming he even came to the meal at all. It was messing with Ginny's mind. It was true they had never actually said anything about getting back together, but Ginny assumed "I love you" would suffice. Harry had even said it more than once. It was bloody confusing the way he acted sometimes. Ginny was sure that in Harry's mind there was a perfectly simple explanation as to why he was ignoring her. She just didn't know what that was. She decided to talk to her older brother. Ron and Hermione would be gone for a while, and if nothing else, George would listen.

"George!" she cried, "You'd better open this door right now or I'll blast it down!"

There was still no answer. Ginny knew George was still grieving, but she didn't know it was still to this extent.

"Okay fine! 1…2…3…" Ginny said. "_Alohomora!_" The door gave an audible click, and Ginny opened it a tad. Something was up.

She shoved the door open more and gazed in wonder at the scene laid out in front of her. George was nowhere to be seen. The two twin beds were made up stiffly, like they hadn't been slept in for years. Everything was exactly the way she remembered it except covered in a blanket of thick, grey dust. She walked into the room. The curtains on the windows had been closed tightly. Half-finished projects for Fred and George's shop were lying on the desk as if the twins were going to come back that night to finish them. Boxes of supplies were stacked against the far wall unopened. It looked as if no one had lived here for ages.

Ginny raced downstairs to where her mother sat on the rocking chair in the living room, knitting a Weasley sweater. Molly looked up briefly.

"What is it dear?" Molly asked.

"Where's George?"

"He should be in his room dear," Molly said, "He hasn't said he's going anywhere today."

Ginny thought for a moment about how she would phrase what she was going to say next: "When you…talk to George every night, do you…actually go inside his room?"

Molly turned a pale red. She thought for a long while before talking: "Well no. Not exactly," she admitted. "I usually talk through the door. I know he's been so upset. I think the last thing he wants to see is little old me."

Ginny frowned. "Is it because of George or because you can't stand to see Fred's old room that makes you not go inside?" she asked.

Molly scowled.

"I thought so," Ginny said as kindly as she could, "Well he hasn't been in there at all. Either that or he's done an exceptional job of covering up the fact that he has been there. I'll go find him alright?"

Molly put her hand to her chest and nodded.

Ginny finally found her brother in the attic with the family ghoul. She almost laughed when she saw the ghoul still had red hair from when her brothers disguised it as Ron with Spattergroit last year.

George had set up everything in the small room above Ron's bedroom. There was a small mattress with bedding stacked on a set of boxes to raise it off of the ground. A cracked mirror was propped up against the wall. And about ten empty bottles of Firewhiskey were stacked in a corner. The attic was not under the same cooling charm as the rest of the house, so it was extremely stuffy and hot in the tiny, dark room.

"Nice place you got up here," Ginny stated loudly. George jumped and turned to face her. He was holding a deck of Muggle cards, which were probably their dad's.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

"What are _you _doing up here?" Ginny retorted crossing her arms, "Please don't tell me you've been living up here for a month."

"Fine. I won't. I was just challenging Terence to a game of Hearts," George said, "Isn't that right Ter?"

The ghoul gave a groan; whether that meant yes, no, or 'I'm going to eat you' was a mystery to Ginny.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Terence?"

George shrugged: "I was asking him what he wanted to be called and he moaned and grunted a lot when I said Terence, so that's his name."

Ginny dragged a box labeled "Baby Toys" over to the game.

"So you have been living up here for the past month?" Ginny asked. "Why?"

George shrugged: "Needed a change of pace, I s'pose."

"You do know Mum has been talking to you through your bedroom door for the past month haven't you?"

"I haven't actually been in my room in the past month," George admitted.

"Why not? It's like a palace compared to the attic."

George shrugged and turned away. "Terence, how many times do I have to tell you: eating the cards is not part of the game!" George commanded.

"You're mental," Ginny said, shaking her head, "And you've been lying to us for an entire month. You're acting like a little kid."

"No, I'm not!" George said. He got up from the makeshift bed and stumbled over to a bottle of Firewhiskey that sat on the other side of the room.

"Oh, are you pissed as well?" she fired at him angrily.

"Just a little," he said wryly, "Usually I don't drink before dinner, you see."

"This is not a joke George!" Ginny cried. Her insides were on fire. She had tried to be brave for George and for her mum, but for the past month they had been swallowed by grief, and they hadn't even attempted bravery. "You need to go downstairs right now. You need help! Did you think that you could just sit up here forever and not have to face anything? Did you think that if you drank until you passed out every night that it would all go away? It doesn't work like that!"

"I was only drinking to stop the dreams," George said morosely.

"What dreams?" Ginny asked. Suddenly her anger was replaced with curiosity.

"The dreams where I'm there. When…when the wall f-falls. And I see it coming; I see the wall toppling o-over in slow motion. And F-Fred is standing there smiling. But I don't try and save h-him because that would mean I would die. Why don't I try and save him, Ginny? If it were real life…if it were real life, I dunno. I'd like to think that I would save him. But after these dreams, now I'm not so sure."

Ginny's anger deflated from her like a balloon. Up until this very second, there had been no doubt in her mind that George, or any of her brothers for that matter, would have sacrificed anything for their family without batting an eyelash. That was why they joined the Order of the Phoenix, why they had volunteered to rescue Harry from Privet Drive, why they had willingly took part in every single battle they could.

"No, George," she whispered, "That's just a dream. You can't think that. It's all inside your head, don't believe it."

"But I can't erase my dreams," George murmured. "I can't take back what I've thought."

"You know what you can do though, right?" Ginny said, looking up into George's melancholy blue eyes.

George shook his head and looked away from her.

"You can start by getting out of this manky old attic and going downstairs. You can also talk to people. You do know we still love you even though you smell absolutely horrid. How long has it been since you've brushed your teeth?"

George shrugged.

"You could also move back into your room. It looks like it hasn't been lived in in ages."

"Wait, you went in there?"

Ginny nodded: "Is that a problem?"

"No, was it…sad in there?"

"Sad?" Ginny asked. "It looks like it normally does, except Mum cleaned it a bit last year, and it's collected an inch of dust since then. The only sad part is that there's no one living there."

"I'll consider it," George shrugged, "What about the shop?"

"I haven't been out of the house in ages," Ginny said. "I haven't been to the shop."

"Well I don't know if I'm ready to take that on yet," George said.

"Baby steps," Ginny said, "Let's get you downstairs and have mum fix you up. You're a mess."

* * *

It had been building up for weeks. Harry had thought that it would be normal when it was all said and done. And for the first two weeks after, he had even attempted normality. None of the Weasleys, especially not Ginny, deserved this. He knew somewhere deep inside that he would always have his demons. Harry knew some things couldn't be undone. He knew becoming an Auror would absolutely mean facing things he would rather not think about ever again. He also knew becoming an Auror would mean he would have to leave sometimes. Leave the people he loved, and leave them to worry whether he would make it back or not.

He knew a clean break would be better. The Weasleys would never have to see him again. They wouldn't have to be swamped with worry. They wouldn't have to go on pretending that they still liked him after he was responsible for Fred's death.

* * *

"Ginny!" Molly Weasley called from the kitchen. Ginny had been sitting in the living room, failing miserably at learning how to knit. She had planned on taking up the legacy of the handmade Weasley sweaters, but the way things were going, that was not going to be happening any time soon. She did not have the patience for knitting, perhaps Hermione could teach her.

"Ginevra!" Molly called again loudly. Ginny cringed at the use of her birth-given name.

"What, Mum!" Ginny called in annoyance.

"Can you go call your brothers; it's dinner time!" Molly called.

"The way you called me, I'm sure they already heard," Ginny snapped rudely.

Molly huffed, but did not retort.

"Fine, I'll go."

Ginny raced upstairs. She knocked first on George's door. The name plaque on the door still read "Shred and Scourge Measly" after they had bewitched to say so in their second year. Ginny nearly giggled when she remembered the twins had also bewitched the name plaques of Bill and Charlie to Jill and Carly Weasley respectively. Those had since been replaced with their proper names.

"What is it?" George asked.

"You okay?" Ginny asked opening the door a crack. All the dust that had previously covered every surface of the room was gone and the curtains were open letting the last rays of sunlight fall in the room. George was standing in the middle of the room looking at the two twin beds.

"Yeah…fine, it's just odd, you know?"

Ginny nodded: "Er…Dinner's ready if you feel like coming down."

"Sure. I haven't had a proper meal in a long time."

"Well come on then."

Ginny called the rest of her brothers out of their rooms before heading back up to the attic to where she knew Harry was living in Ron's room.

She was going to talk to him whether he wanted to or not. Harry couldn't weasel himself out of this one. Ginny climbed up the steep stairs to the attic preparing herself for whatever was going to happen next. She definitely wasn't expecting what she actually saw.

Ginny let out a soft cry and ran all the way back downstairs, almost tripping on the staircase.

"Help!" she called when she reached the kitchen.

"What is it Gin?" Charlie asked getting up immediately form his seat. The rest of the Weasleys also stood up, prepared for the worst.

"It's Harry!" Ginny cried, "He's gone!"

Everyone hesitated for a moment.

"Are you sure he's gone?" Arthur asked reasonably. "If he wasn't in his room, maybe he stepped outside for a moment." He looked out the window hopefully, as if expecting to see Harry fly by on his broomstick.

"No, he's not here," Ginny said hysterically, "His trunk was gone and all his stuff."

"Alright," Charlie muttered gruffly, "Where did he run off to this time?"

"Let's wait until tomorrow morning, Ginny," Arthur commanded calmly, "And if he's not back by then, we'll go looking for him."

"It's too dark out to even see right now."

Ginny sank down to the floor near the bottom of the stairs. She buried her face in her hands.

"Where would Harry go? He wouldn't run away would he?" asked Percy.

"Maybe," moaned Ginny, "He hasn't been himself the past few days. He's been avoiding contact with everyone. He wouldn't have just up and left though."

"Who knows?" whispered George in confusion. "He definitely had a reason if he left though. Harry always has a reason."

"Why he doesn't let us in on any of his scheming is what I'd like to find out," Molly wondered aloud.

"He blames himself," Ginny finally said. She bit back tears. It seemed like all she did these days was cry. "He thinks it's his fault that Fred is dead. Actually, he thinks it's his fault that everyone who died is dead. Harry can't handle that sort of debt: that someone gave their life for him."

"No one gave their life for him though!" Charlie said outraged. "He can't honestly think that their deaths are his fault! That night, we went because we wanted to. We wanted to protect our families. We wanted to protect Harry. But that doesn't make it his fault when people died."

"Try telling Harry that," said Ginny dryly. "It's like reasoning with a Horntail, it's just not going to work."

George rolled his eyes: "Son of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry is more insane than Filch under the influence of alcohol."

"George!" Ginny's mum snapped sadly. "We don't even know if Harry's left! For all we know, he could have been kidnapped by a stray Death Eater."

"No he left," Arthur said wryly, "The enchantments around the house are all still intact and the Burrow is unplottable. It would be next to impossible for him to be kidnapped by a Death Eater."

"When I get my hands on him I'm going to kill him!" Ginny exclaimed in frustration.

* * *

A/N: Okay this chapter gave me loads of trouble to write, which is probably why it's so short. I hope it was still enjoyable, even if it was a bit choppy in places. Transitioning to the main parts of the story is really hard for me. I realize Harry is absolutely infuriating in this chapter, and I'd like to think that he really does not understand the concept of family yet because he's lived with the Dursleys his whole life. I hope everything works out for him though. I guess we'll see. Please leave a review; I enjoy hearing what you think even if you think I'm a horrible writer, and my story sucks. P.S. I hope you don't think that!

* * *

**Samantha**


	5. Granger Danger

_**Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home**_

**Chapter Five  
Granger Danger**

Michael Turpin was, to put it loosely, the Auror in charge of Ron and Hermione on their trip to Australia. Kingsley Shacklebolt had met with the two just before they departed and had explained that, due to the current state of the Ministry, Dawlish, who was originally meant to accompany them on the trip, would not be joining them. Instead, the Minister sent another, less experienced Auror, named Michael Turpin.

_Less experienced, _Ron thought grumpily when he first laid eyes on Turpin. _He's less experienced than __me_, _and Hermione would demolish him in a dual._

Turpin was a tall, gangly wizard, not unlike Ron in stature. His hair was neatly parted, combed, and gelled in place so that he looked professional, but his face was boyish and young looking, and it seemed out of place when compared to his overall attire. He couldn't have been older than Charlie or George.

Yesterday, Hermione and Ron had met Turpin in the airport in Perth. He had hastily introduced himself, and demanded they check into the hotel as soon as possible. Ron thought he seemed jumpy and nervous, but Hermione was set on the fact that it was his first assignment as a new Auror, and he probably was nervous.

They reached the hotel mid-morning, and Turpin checked them in to two rooms under a false identity. They took the lift to the fourth floor of their hotel set up base camp in their rooms. The rooms were adjoining and there were two twins beds in each.

This was the point where Ron really started to loathe Turpin.

"I suppose I'll take the room with Hermione, and Ron can have the other room to himself," Turpin said in his deep Irish accent. He was talking more to Hermione than Ron.

"No, I'll be rooming with Hermione, and _you _get the room to yourself," Ron said in irritation at Robert.

"Can't do that, mate," Turpin shrugged. "I promised Kingsley I would keep you two safe and out of trouble, and that means I have to be in the same room as one of you at all times."

Ron was getting angrier. "What are we going to do that will get us in trouble? We're right next door! Surely your _Auror_ instincts will alert you if something's up?" he said sarcastically.

"Come on now!" Hermione exclaimed shrilly. "We can't start fighting before we've even done anything!"

"Yeah, Ron," Turpin agreed, which made Ron want to strangle him. Why was he suddenly agreeing with what Hermione said? Wasn't he the one in charge?

"I think you and Turpin should share a room, and I'll take the other. That seems fair, right?" Hermione said biting her lip and looking into Ron's eyes with worry.

Ron wasn't about to screw things up for Hermione. He nodded limply.

"Okay then!" Hermione said brightly. She fumbled for a moment with the white plastic cards that allowed access to the rooms.

"Never mind with those, I've got it," Turpin stated, briefly pulling out his wand and waving it at the doors. They both unlocked with a soft click.

"We're trying _not_ to use magic, show-off," Ron blurted before he could stop himself. "There are Muggles here."

Turpin turned slightly red, but tugged his luggage into the room on the right without argument.

"Will you try not to be so mean, Ron?" Hermione suggested, opening the door to the other room. "See you at around lunchtime I guess." She propped herself up on her tiptoes to give him a brief kiss before she went into her room and closed the door.

Ron sighed briefly and lugged his own suitcase into the room he would now be sharing with Turpin.

* * *

"Pick up the pace, Ron," Turpin snapped angrily. Ron wasn't certain why Turpin seemed to dislike him.

Ron groped around the bottom of his trunk for the match to a sock his mum had knitted him. When he finally located it he pulled it on his foot and shoved his shoe on hastily to avoid angering the ill-tempered Auror.

He grabbed his wallet, which contained Australian Muggle money in it. Apparently, the Muggles used mostly paper instead of gold for their currency, and there were different sets of money depending on where you lived. It was an abstract concept for Ron to grasp having grown up with Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts his whole life, but Hermione seemed to be quite good with Muggle money.

"Took you long enough," Turpin said making his way form the bathroom to the door.

His nasty tone struck a nerve in Ron.

"Do you have some sort of problem with me, mate?" he asked Turpin.

"Well, we were supposed to be in the lobby of the hotel at 12:30 and it is now 12:42. Hermione has been waiting for twelve minutes. We need to hurry."

"Ms. Granger to you," Ron muttered under his breath. Then, before Turpin could object, he said, "Are you wearing cologne?"

Ron knew enough about Muggle clothing to understand that Turpin's jacket and tie were much to formal to be wearing to a meeting with Hermione.

Turpin sniffed, "Listen. I'm a grown man. I can wear whatever I bloody well please. Let's go!"

Ron didn't object and followed Turpin to the lift which took them to the lobby.

As the doors of the lift were about to close, a voice cried, "Wait!"

Turpin shoved his hand in the closing elevator door and it opened back up. Hermione was standing there looking extremely pretty. Her abnormally bushy hair was pulled up into a big knot on the back of her head, and she was wearing a green Muggle outfit, which she had informed Ron was called a summer dress.

"So much for being late," Ron murmured so that only Turpin could hear. He noticed Turpin staring at Hermione too. He was shot with a pang of jealousy.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he said as Hermione walked into the lift.

"What?" Hermione asked, trying to conceal a smile. "I have to dress like a Muggle, don't I?"

When they reached the ground floor, they exited the lift, and made their way toward a few chairs next to the window.

"Erm…_Muffliato,_" Hermione said taking out her wand and then quickly putting it back without being noticed.

"I don't know that spell. What's that spell?" Turpin asked. He snagged the chair next to Hermione before Ron could get to it, so that Ron was forced to sit across from him.

"Just a spell we know," Hermione said, gesturing toward herself and them to Ron. "It makes it so that the people around can't hear what you're saying. Quite useful."

"Maybe we should talk about getting Hermione's parents back?" Ron urged.

"Ah yes," Turpin said with authority, as if it was his idea. "Do you know anything about the whereabouts of Wendall and Monica Wilkens?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Ron breathed.

Hermione placed an address on the coffee table that separated her from Ron, putting it closer to Turpin than Ron. Ron leaned over to read her neat handwriting: _Lifecare Dental, 419 Wellington Street, Perth, Australia_.

"Just a few miles from here," Hermione explained, "It's where they work. I checked online about a week ago."

"Online?" Ron asked, wondering what she meant.

"Never mind," Hermione sighed, "It's a Muggle thing."

"Let's locate them as soon as possible, how about we start next week," Turpin suggested.

Hermione gawked openly at Turpin: "Next week! I was thinking we should start tomorrow!"

Turpin looked confused: "But we need time to prepare for this, we can't just march in there and put Memory modifying charms on them."

"Yes, we can," Ron burst out angrily, amazed at Turpin's stupidity. "And that's what we're going to do—right Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lower lip: "I mean, it might take more than just going in there and putting the charm on them," she said. Ron slumped backward into the seat of his chair, looking dejected. Turpin, on the other hand, looked smug. Hermione continued: "But we should definitely start tomorrow, there's not sense in waiting. I don't think it'll take nearly a week, Turpin."

Ron smirked a little but quickly hid it when Hermione turned her attention back to him: "Are you certain you're ready for this, Ron?"

Ron nodded. Hermione looked nervous.

"It'll be okay," Ron tried to say in a comforting voice. Comforting was not his greatest talent. He got up and went over to her chair. He leaned down to give her a hug, which she stood up to receive. Turpin pointedly turned his head away from the scene and out the window.

Ron eyed a large chandelier in the middle of the lobby. He pictured it falling on Turpin's head and squashing him to a million tiny pieces. The thought cheered him up slightly.

* * *

Ginny tossed and turned in her bed. She stared into the pitch-dark night and let the song of a million locusts fill her ears with a dull buzz. She tried to determine when the sun would rise, but not a single ray of light penetrated through the black. It was a cloudy night, so she couldn't even see the stars. It was just Ginny and her thoughts.

Ginny wasn't precisely sure she wanted the morning to come though. Of course she wanted to find Harry as soon as possible, and she wanted to give him a piece of her mind. On the other hand, she wasn't quite sure why Harry had decided to leave. The last time he had attempted to leave the family had been last summer, when he thought that his being at the Burrow was a danger to the Weasleys. He must have had some reason for disappearing now. Harry always had a reason for doing whatever he did. If it was a rash decision, it was usually made out of love and protection. Sometimes, Harry didn't realize that he hurt people in the process of protecting them.

Ginny awoke a little while later. She must have drifted asleep because even thought it was still dark out, the sky was a paler black. Sunrise was coming.

Ginny went downstairs to find her mum, dad, and Percy already up. They were huddled around the living room fireplace where the head of Kingsley Shacklebolt bobbed up and down, transparent against the flames of the fire.

"Kingsley!" Ginny exclaimed.

The Minister looked stressed and rather tired. He gave Ginny a slight nod before continuing his conversation with Percy. The faces of Molly and Arthur Weasley were teeming with worry, and Arthur had his hand placed firmly on his son's shoulder. He gave Percy a light squeeze. Percy looked paler than normal but was putting on a brave face for his family.

"…The team is assembled and ready, so it would be best if you left today, in the next hour or two if at all possible."

Percy puffed out his chest a little: "I'm ready."

"Well that's that," Kingsley spoke commandingly. "I'll see you at the Ministry by sunrise." He nodded once more before his head disappeared.

Molly embraced Percy in a bone-crushing hug that lasted minutes long. Arthur pried her off of him as gently as he could: "Come on, dear, our son has to pack."

Ginny knew that Percy was going to be leaving for Azkaban, but she hadn't realized he was leaving so soon.

"Please, Percy," Molly said tearing up and hugging Percy tightly. "Come back safe, will you?"

Arthur too hugged Percy. Ginny stood off to the side of them, a little awkwardly.

"Bye, Perce," she mustered with sincerity. "I really will miss you."

Percy's eyes sparkled behind his horn-rimmed glasses, letting her know he understood. It wasn't in Ginny's nature to drop everything and be friends with someone who hurt her, even if that person happened to be their brother.

"I won't be gone forever, Mum," Percy said trying to escape her strong grasp, "Just a few weeks."

"So it's agreed then," Arthur explained rationally. The family was gathered in their whimsical living room, going over their approach to finding Harry. "Charlie and Mum have Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley if it comes to that; Ginny, Bill, Fleur, you three are covering Hogsmeade; and George and I will be headed to the Ministry and then number four Privet Drive if he's not there."

They all nodded; they were desperate to find Harry. Even Bill and Fleur flooed directly over from Shell Cottage when they heard the news.

"If you find him," Arthur handed each of them a fake gold Galleon like the ones they used at Dumbledore's Army meetings they had in Ginny's fourth year. "Press your wand to this, and it'll tell us all to meet back here. We should all schedule to meet back here at noon if we don't find him, and we'll go from there. Got it?"

Ginny nodded and so did the others. She moved closer to Bill and Fleur. Did Harry think they wouldn't run after him? Did he think that the Weasleys didn't love him like he was part of the family? He was a part of their family. Harry was often too drastic for his own good.

"Ready?" Bill asked. "We'll be using Floo powder seeing as you can't Apparate yet." His face and Fleur's were etched with worry as they made their way to the fireplace.

Ginny grabbed a bit of the pink powder and tossed it over the flames. They blazed green, and Ginny yelled, "Hogsmeade!"

She launched herself confidently into the fire.

* * *

Ginny tumbled out of the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade's most popular inn. She accidentally landed on a stack of metal buckets, and they made a horrible racket. She stood up, wiped her stinging hands, and rolled out of the way before Bill hit her when he was launched out of the fire next. His landing was a bit more graceful than Ginny's. Fleur came out last, landing perfectly of course.

"Who's there?" called Madam Rosmerta from the front room. She was the bartender and landlady of the Three Broomsticks. She was a very curvy witch who was very pretty, but dyed her hair blond every three months so that on the off months, her brownish roots would peak through her curly mane.

"Bill, Fleur, and Ginny Weasley!" Bill called back. They walked out to the front room, which was nearly empty. The only people there were a few businessmen drinking a morning Butterbeer before work and an old, frail lady hovering near the window as if she was waiting for someone.

"Haven't seen you in a long while, Bill," said Rosmerta lovingly; she liked to get to know all of the Hogwarts students, and Bill had been a favorite of hers.

Fleur came out of the back room last. Rosmerta saw her immediately; she was almost a head taller than Ginny.

"Who is this?" said Rosmerta coyly. Ginny stepped aside so that the bartender could get a good look at Fleur. "Where do I know her from?"

"This is Fleur Weasley," Bill explained with a hint of pride in his voice. "We've been married for almost a year."

Rosmerta beamed: "I always knew you'd marry well, Bill. I suppose she's smart too?"

Bill nodded: "Smart enough to be chosen by the Goblet of Fire to compete in the Triwizard Tournament."

"Ah!" Madam Rosemerta exclaimed, holding her arms out with recognition. "You're the Beauxbatons girl!"

"Yes," Fleur said smiling proudly.

"Well, what brings you three here?" she asked ushering them to the nearest table.

"Oh, sorry Rosmerta, but we really can't stay er…" he lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "We're looking for Harry, er, you haven't seen him have you?"

Rosmerta looked worried: "Can't say I have. But I promise I won't tell anyone. Harry has had enough drama to last him a lifetime I'll tell you that. I can only imagine what'll happen when the press is aloud to come knocking on his door. How long until they can to talk to him?"

"Four days," Bill said, "My dad's already started putting protective enchantments on the house to keep the reporters out."

"Mmm," Rosmerta nodded. She seemed to be lost in her thoughts, but she broke out of the daydream quickly. "Well don't let me keep you. But please, take some Butterbeers with you. It could be a long day."

She hurried to the shelf and pulled off three brand new bottles of Butterbeer. Even though it wasn't cold in the room, the drinks were icy: Madam Rosmerta must have used a freezing charm on them.

"Thanks," Ginny said taking the bottles and stuffing them in her shoulder bag. She reached for a sickle and tried to give it to Rosmerta, but the kind lady told her it was on the house.

"Well," Bill said moving toward the door. The girls followed after him. "I wish we could stay and catch up but—"

"No matter," Rosmerta interrupted following them to the door. "My feelings will only be bruised for a few days."

Ginny walked out the door into the open Hogsmeade air. The small wizarding village was very much the same as she had imagined it: bucolic, like you were plopped right into the middle of a fairytale. Each dilapidated building was different, and each housed its own wonders to discover.

"Where do you suggest we begin?" Fleur asked.

Ginny gazed into the morning sun and shrugged: "I'm not sure, but I don't think he'll be in the main village."

"Where then?" Bill asked.

Ginny thought hard. If she were Harry where would go if she ran away? She remembered the day Harry told her everything from start to finish.

She remembered what he'd said about Snape being a good guy. Snape had given Harry memories. Snape had been in:

"Shrieking Shack," Ginny exclaimed. "We have to go to the Shrieking Shack."

Bill looked a little confused, but followed Ginny as she marched down the street at a rapid pace. They arrived at the old, run-down three-story house about ten minutes later. Somehow it looked more weak than normal, as though dark magic had been used deep within it. The wrought iron gate was open and barely clinging to the fence. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had used this place as a personal clubhouse during—

They stepped onto the property. As they walked across the brown front lawn, Ginny couldn't help but feel as though she was intruding on a crime scene. When they reached the house it was Bill who turned the doorknob; the door opened surprisingly silently.

Fleur shrieked and buried her head in Bill's shoulder when she saw the inside of the house. Ginny's knees buckled, and she sank to the ground. Bill too looked as though he might pass out. They stayed in silence for a long while. Ginny closed her eyes, but the image of what she saw was still burned into her eyelids.

Severus Snape's dead body was suspended a few feet off the ground. A rope stretched from around his neck to the banister of the second story balcony. Written in blood on the walls, was the word "Traitor" over and over again. It churned her stomach to think that she wrote similar messages in her own blood across the walls of Hogwarts in first year.

After a long time, Bill finally let go of Fleur and walked slowly into the house. Ginny looked up at him, worried about what he might do. Bill hadn't yet heard Snape's side of the story.

Ginny stood up carefully. She walked inside trying not to touch anything. Fleur lingered by the door with her hand over her face.

"This wasn't done recently," he said feebly.

Ginny pulled out her wand and pointed it at the rope, "_Diffindo._"

The body fell to the floor with a sickening crunch. Snape was lying face down at her feet.

"_Tergeo,_" she murmured over and over, siphoning off the blood on the walls and floor. Last, Ginny cleaned the blood off of Snape's body and tentatively turned him over. In his hand, he was clutching a note. Ginny tore it forcefully from his hand.

"What's that?" Bill asked walking toward her.

She held it out so that the two of them could see.

"A note?" Bill asked.

"From Harry's mum," Ginny said stroking the words "Lots of love, Lily" at the bottom of the page. She read the note, which seemed cordial enough.

"Why would Snape have a note from Lily?" asked Bill.

"He loved her," Ginny said softly.

"Did she love him back?"

"I didn't think so."

"This was after Harry was born. See…they mention him." Bill said.

"That can't be, Harry's mum and dad loved each other," Ginny said refusing to believe anything.

"You don't think she—" Bill began before he was cut off quickly by Ginny.

"No way!" she said forcefully, grabbing the note away from him. Bill dropped the subject.

"Godric's Hollow," Ginny said, suddenly struck with the idea. It seemed so simple, she felt stupid for not having thought of it before.

Bill looked at her.

"That's where he is…I'm sure of it."

Bill started to speak, but Ginny cut him off.

"I want to go there alone."

"I don't think—"

Ginny's tone was sharp: "I don't really care what you think, but I do know that if you and Fleur are there, he won't come back."

"Fine then, Ginny," Bill said. "Be careful. Don't run into any Death Eaters there. Watch out for prying eyes. Come back alive."

It was one of the things Ginny liked most about Bill: he didn't underestimate her abilities. He knew she would do whatever it took. That came naturally being the youngest of seven.

Just as Ginny was about to Disapparate, she heard Fleur saying, "What ees she doing?"

Ginny turned on her foot, even though she didn't have her license yet. It hardly mattered; she doubted a little underage magic from inside the Shrieking Shack would cause much of a stir at the Ministry. She concentrated hard on her destination with determination and detestation or whatever the hell Twycross's three D's were: _Godric's Hollow, Godric's Hollow, Godric's Hollow, Godric's Hollow_

* * *

Ginny landed wobbly on the middle of the gravel road. She then fell and scratched her knee pretty horribly on a jagged rock. It began to bleed, and she cursed herself for not being as smooth on her feet as she was on a broom. In front of her was a church with a small cemetery to the left of it. In the distance, she could faintly make out the sculpting of two people holding a baby: Harry. The two parents must have been Harry's parents.

Ginny walked toward the white gate, opened it, and slowly made her way toward the statue. She quickly realized how much Harry's parents resembled him. He looked exactly like James down to his eternally bemused expression, and the faint smile that curled on his lips. For a second she even thought she was looking at Harry, but no, James's eyes were smaller, and his glasses were ovals. Lily's eyes were bigger, and she only resembled Harry a bit. If the statue was in color, Ginny was certain Lily's eyes would be exactly the same shade of green as Harry's, like everyone already said when they met him.

Searching the ground for where Harry's parents' graves were, she finally located them. Someone had been there recently, for a bouquet of fresh roses was placed in front of the grave. On the grave, under the birth dates and death dates of Harry's parents, were more words, boldly etched: "The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed Is Death."

Ginny thought bitterly, _you still have to destroy every other enemy before you can even consider destroying death._

She got up and looked around. Ginny was certain that Harry had been here; she didn't know where he was now. On her final turn of scanning the village, shielding her eyes against the bright sun, Ginny spotted something. A shock of black hair and ivory skin was running away from the graveyard. She squinted to see where it went, but the sun was making her eyes water. Ginny raced toward the person, following it. If it was Quidditch season, she would have already caught up to him by now, but she was terribly out of shape from being inside all summer.

She followed the person into a back alley. The shade between the trees and houses was enough to tell her it was Harry. Ginny didn't call his name because she was sure he would Disapparate if she did.

Ginny finally caught up with him when he stopped in between two houses to catch his breath.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" Ginny said. She didn't anticipate being so angry, but as soon as she saw Harry, her blood began to boil.

Harry didn't speak. Ginny shoved him against one of the houses in disgust; she was losing her temper and fast.

"Did you think it was okay to just go and cop out on this family? Did you think you were somehow saving us trouble by letting us lose you?"

Harry still wasn't speaking and Ginny was shaking with fury.

"Did you think we weren't going to worry about you? Did you think that your disappearance wouldn't be as hard as when Tonks died? When Remus died? When anyone died? Even when Fred died? You can't just leave your family without warning, Harry! In fact, you're not supposed to leave them at all!"

Harry was still not speaking and it was killing Ginny. Why was he just standing there and taking it all in? Surely, he had something to say on the matter. Harry always had an opinion.

"Harry?" she asked weakly.

"I have to go," Harry said turning. Ginny stood in front of him so that he couldn't move.

"I'm not letting you leave without an explanation!" she shouted. "Isn't that what you told Lupin, that you can't walk out on your family!"

Harry started to run in the opposite direction. Before Ginny knew what she was doing, she had pulled out her wand and hit him with a spell.

"That doebn't madder!" Harry shouted. His nose was now clogged with bogeys that would soon swell to the size of bats.

"I know you blame be for it!" he slumped to the side of the building, clutching his face. "I'm not a bart of your fabily."

"Harry," Ginny said thickly, trying to hold back the tears that were already streaming down her face. A fat Christmas bogey was shoving its way out of his nose. "We don't blame you for anything. No one is blaming you for anything; why would you think that?"

Harry was too busy with his nose to respond.

"And just so you know," Ginny said. "You are a part of our family whether you want to be or not!"

Harry looked defeated. The first bat shaped bogey was flying out of his nose. His tears were streaming with tears and his face was sweaty and bloody. He was saying something but Ginny couldn't understand.

"I'm sorry Harry," Ginny said. "Please, come back home."

Harry mumbled something inaudible. He nodded once, and Ginny understood that he understood.

She removed the Bat-Bogey Hex. Harry was slumped against the house in the alley still. Ginny didn't really feel like staying. She felt like going home and crying to be honest. She was exhausted and defeated. Ginny knew Harry would come when he was ready.

"Y-you weren't there when we found out you were missing," Ginny said trembling. "You didn't see how bad we felt. We thought you were killed or kidnapped. I still can't imagine what we'd do without you, Harry."

With that, Ginny Disapparated with a pop.

* * *

"You let her go alone!" Arthur shouted at Bill. The chance you had of finding Arthur yelling was about the same as the chance you had of seeing a Hungarian Horntail and a Welsh Greenback getting along—that is to say, very slim.

Right now though, Arthur was fuming.

"Why would you do that?" he yelled. "She's not even of age! And in the current state of things…we've got to go and find her! Do you realize what could happen to her, Bill?"

Molly was quite upset too. She was called back to the Burrow early, only to realize they hadn't found Harry at all. And Bill had let her youngest run loose in the wizarding world.

"She'll be fine," Bill assured his parents. He too seemed a little worried, but not nearly as much as his parents. "And she has the Galleon, she'll tap it if she gets into trouble."

Molly's knees buckled and she fell backwards into a living room chair.

"I'm going to go find her!" Arthur yelled. Bill grabbed his arm.

"Don't go!" Bill shouted. "Ginny will come back!"

As if on cue, a loud pop came from the kitchen followed by the crashing of plates to the floor.

"Damn!" someone called. "I'm worse than Tonks."

Molly was the first to rush into the kitchen and hug Ginny, overjoyed to see her daughter standing on some broken plates that had crashed to the floor when she Apparated.

"_Reparo,_" Ginny said waving her wand.

Molly couldn't help but notice her voice was shaking. She stepped back to examine the girl and gasped. Ginny was covered in blood, sweat, tears, and what she hoped were bogeys.

"What happened!" Molly exclaimed.

Ginny headed toward the kitchen table: "I found Harry."

The Weasleys gathered and sank into their own chairs around the table.

"I think he's coming back, at least, I hope so after what I had to do."

"Which was?" Charlie asked.

"Bat-Bogey Hex."

"He deserved it," George said.

"Please," Ginny pleaded. "When he does come back, pretend like everything's normal. Pretend like nothing happened. He feels really guilty and I don't think he can handle conflict right now."

* * *

Night was settling in the Burrow. The Weasleys were all still up in the living room, exchanging yawns every so often. They hadn't spoken to each other in hours it seemed. They had just been sitting there waiting for Harry to arrive so things could get back to normal. It had been a long day. Ginny was curled into a fat green armchair forcing herself to keep her eyes open.

"Go, Ginny," Molly said from a couch on the other side of the room. "Go talk to him now. Be a friend."

Ginny didn't speak for a while.

"I can't do that now, not after I hexed him."

"He needs you…go."

Ginny contemplated the situation. She really didn't feel like speaking to Harry was going to help at this point. He probably didn't want to see her ever again.

"Harry's being wishy-washy," said Ginny. "He probably hates us now. I can't go."

"Go!" Molly said more forcefully. Ginny knew she had to oblige. And a small part of her did want to go.

Ginny Apparated to Godric's Hollow for the second time that day. Whoever was monitoring her Trace, was probably going to throw her in Azkaban for the amount of magic she'd used today, but that was the least of her worries.

She walked along the streets trying to remember between which two houses she had attacked Harry. She went to the spot where she thought it was, but Harry wasn't there. There were still bloodstains and bogeys all over the side of the house. Whoever lived there would be livid when they found out. She went around to the front of the house where she surprisingly found Harry. He was sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at the front of the house.

Ginny slid down next to him. He still looked like hell. They sat for a long while, and Ginny looked up at the house too. She knew it must be his parents'. 20 Plant Avenue.

"I suppose it's mine now, you know," Harry spoke. Ginny didn't speak. The chirping of crickets was drowning out all other sounds. She flicked a beetle off of her knee.

"I imagine I'll live here someday," he continued after a while. "With my kids, and my wife."

"Oh," Ginny said.

The house was pretty big for only James, Lily, and Harry. Ginny wondered if his parents were thinking about adding to their family.

"I want my wife to be you," Harry said. Ginny was snapped from her thoughts roughly.

"What?" she said sharply.

"I want you to be my wife," Harry repeated.

Ginny didn't pull any more sense from those words the second time she heard them.

"Oh Harry," she said. "Is that a proposal?"

Harry shrugged: "Maybe."

Ginny was quiet for close to an hour. She had the feeling only she and Harry could see the house.

"Harry?" she asked.

"Ginny?" he asked. "I'm sorry. I should have never brought it up—"

"It's fine," Ginny cut Harry off. "I just, I don't know. I get to thinking everything is good between us, and then you decide to run off. I don't want that to happen ever again. It's already happened twice."

"I won't," said Harry seriously. "Never again. I've learned my lesson. I'm a hypocrite-slash-prat-slash-idiot."

"Don't tell me that!" Ginny said in frustration. "Show me. Show me you'll never run off again and maybe I'll believe you."

A piece of Ginny knew Harry was telling the truth, but she still needed to wait and see.

"Let's start slow," Ginny said folding her head into his shoulder.

"Okay," Harry said. "Ginny Weasley will you be my girlfriend?"

She cut off his words with a long drawn-out kiss.

* * *

A/N: Super long chapter, I know. I hope you made it through without falling asleep. I debated turning it into two chapters, but it didn't really work out. I feel like I've been using a lot of the SAT vocab words because we've been watching SAT vocab movies in class. I hope you enjoyed it. Pretty please leave a review, and I will reply to it. I love your opinion good or bad. Sorry that this chapter got uploaded so many times, it wasn't working right...

* * *

**Sammie**


	6. Letters To And From

_**Walk Two Moons, But Always Come Home**_

**Chapter Six  
Letters To and From**

The next week was a very strange time for the Weasley family. Harry was extra careful to be extremely polite to everyone, which became almost annoying after a while. With the addition of reporters to their crazy lives, the Weasleys scarcely had time to breathe.

"It's fine, Harry," Molly Weasley told him. She was scrubbing a pot at the kitchen sink while a reporter with a camera tried to snap a picture of them. The charms around the Burrow kept all the reporters from coming within a hundred yards of the house, but they still lingered as close as they could get, trying to catch snippets of 'Harry Potter's' day-to-day life and maybe a bit of juicy gossip.

"It's really not though," Harry said. "If it's bugging you I could spend some time with the Dursleys until the madness dies down."

"Harry," she said more harshly, "You're part of our family. We will be in contact with you for the rest of our lives. Reporters will be reporting things about you for the rest of your life—and after. It's really not that big of a deal."

"Any word yet from Percy?" Harry asked her, changing the subject quickly.

"No," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "No good news, but no bad news either, so that's a plus."

"Sorry," Harry said. He handed her a dirty pan, which she started to wash. He took the wet pot and dried it with a towel.

"Harry quit apologizing!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, a bit harshly. "It was nice the first hundred times, but now it's getting on everybody's bloody nerves!"

"Sor—er…okay."

"Sorry," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "I've just been stressed out lately."

"Over the reporters!" Harry attested.

"No, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley laughed. She grabbed the towel that he was using to dry the dishes and smacked him with it. "You don't have to help me with all the chores, you know. I think George and Ginny are up in her room. Why don't you go see what they're doing?"

"Fine." Harry raced up the stairs and knocked once on Ginny's door. He heard two voices vibrating through the walls. They stopped talking at once upon Harry's knock.

"Coming!" Ginny called. He heard her bedsprings creak. She opened the door.

"Oh," she sighed, then smiled. "We thought you were Mum or Dad. Come in."

She pulled the door open farther, and Harry stepped inside. Ginny closed the door immediately behind him.

"Have you ever met a girl named Lenka?" Ginny asked as soon as he was over the threshold.

Harry shook his head.

"Show him the note George."

George had been sitting at Ginny's white vanity but he moved across the room and gave a wrinkled note to Harry.

"Charlie wrote it," George said. "Ginny found it under the tree he was sitting in right before we had the first Sunday dinner."

Harry read the note: "Who's Lenka?"

"We don't know," Ginny said seriously. "Charlie never mentioned any girls in his letters to us."

"Who do you think she is?" Harry asked. "Do you think she's a bad person?"

"No," Ginny said. "Charlie would never date anyone evil. At least, I don't think he would."

"Yeah, but we also thought Charlie would tell us if he was dating someone. Especially since he's not exactly a ladies' man."

"Let's see if anything else happens before we do anything too rash," Harry said. Ginny gawked at him. "What?"

"Let's wait and see? Never thought I'd hear you say that Mr. Rational."

"I'm rational!" Harry protested.

George shook his head. "No, you're not. You're kind of the king of impulsive, spontaneous decisions."

"Yeah Harry," Ginny said. "A week ago, you ran away. That night, you went irrational in the complete opposite direction, remember? But we should wait. Best to agree with him while he's being rational."

"Hey!"

"Oh, there's one more thing Harry," Ginny said. She slid him a note facedown across the bed. Harry walked over to it and picked it up.

His eyes scanned the letter and paused for a moment at the bottom when he saw the word "Lily"

"Oh!" he gasped. He traced the four letters with his fingers, lost for a moment in his mother's handwriting.

"I found it in Snape's hand," Ginny said. "I'm sorry."

Ginny had already told Harry about finding Snape's body in the Shrieking Shack. Everyone agreed it was very fishy, and Arthur had told the Minister the very next day at work. Kingsley had placed two Aurors on patrol around the Shack just to make sure nothing was going awry.

"Sorry? What for?"

"Doesn't this mean your mum was having an aff—"

"No!" Harry cut her off quickly. "There is no way she was having…there was no way she would ever…Snape called her a Mud-blood remember? She loathed him after that!"

"It's just…"

"Here, I have the other half," Harry said, digging in the mokeskin pouch he wore around his neck. He pulled out the other half of the crumpled letter. "Snape stole this from Sirius." He pointed to the second page of Lily's letter.

He watched as Ginny's eyes scanned the letter, pausing on Sirius's name.

"Sorry, Harry," Ginny said. "We really need to lighten up. We've been a bit hysterical lately. It's awful really."

"I wish we could get out of the house, but right now, we can't even get the _Prophet_ without a reporter taking our picture."

"I've got an idea," Ginny said mischievously.

* * *

"I am _not_ going to do this!" Harry exclaimed a few hours later. They were standing in front of a shop which Ginny had dragged Harry to without telling him what they were doing.

It was a Muggle parlor in the heart of London with bright neon lights twisted into the words: "Tattoos and Piercings".

"Just one, Harry," Ginny playfully pleaded. "A big fat Hippogriff."

"No," Harry stated bluntly.

"I'll get one if you get one," Ginny said coyly.

"No!" Harry cried. "They stick needles and stuff in you, and it hurts."

Ginny rolled her eyes: "So you can fight off a hundred Dementors, win the Triwizard Tournament, undergo the Cruciatus Curse, and save a billion lives, but you can't get one measly Hippogriff engrained into your skin forever?"

"'Engrained in your skin forever' really is making me _want _to get one," Harry pointed out. Ginny shrugged.

Harry bit his lower lip: "We don't have any Muggle money."

"The guy who runs this place is a wizard, we found out when Bill got his…"

"Bill has one?"

"Three actually: a dragon, a phoenix, and a rune that Hermione helped him translate. Oh, and Charlie has a dragon too; he got his one day when he got mad at Mum for making him clean the Burrow's windows—all fifty-seven of them. Why do you ask?"

"Fine, I'll do it," Harry grumbled. Ginny's coaxes never failed her. "How long is this going to take?"

"Should be quick," Ginny muttered opening the door for him. "He's a wizard, so he uses magic to…speed up the process."

"But he can't make the pain of a needle jabbing my skin billions of times go away?" Harry grumbled as he stalked through the door. Ginny followed after him.

"Does Mrs. Weasley know about Bill's and Charlie's tattoos?" Harry asked. The two sank into two wooden chairs placed against the front window but facing the inside of the shop. Posters of different ink designs were tacked up all along the walls.

"No," Ginny said. "So you'd better keep your mouth shut about ours too."

About fifteen minutes later, a middle-aged man with dark, black hair tied loosely in a ponytail on the nape of his neck walked out into the main room. He was wearing Muggle clothes: a faded, tie-dyed shirt and a pair of mangled, old jeans.

"Potter!" he said excitedly when he saw Harry—by now every wizard knew him by face because he had been plastered throughout every newspaper and magazine for the past week. He smiled toothily at Harry. The few teeth he still had were a nauseating shade of yellow-brown, like someone had hastily shoved rotten corn kernels in his mouth and pretended they were his teeth. "And the Weasley girl!" He nodded his head toward Ginny.

Ginny was surprised that he remembered her before. She realized he probably didn't get very many wizards in his parlor in a typical day.

"We're here to get tattoos," Ginny said, getting straight to the point. Harry turned slightly green, so Ginny shoved her elbow in his ribs. "Harry here, wants a big fat Hippogriff on his chest."

"No I don't!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm not doing this Gin!"

"First-timer eh?" he smiled again. "Not to worry. I'm quicker than a Nimbus 2000."

"If I'm getting one of these, it'll be small," Harry said.

"Cop out," Ginny breathed near his ear. "Come on, I'll get one if you get one."

"I don't really want you to get one either!" Harry exclaimed.

"Live a little, Harry," Ginny said removing her jacket and throwing it on the chair near the door. "I'm definitely getting one though. And I might let something slip to my brothers if Harry Potter is too big of a wuss to get a tattoo."

* * *

Hermione's finger hesitated on the door on the doorbell outside of the dentist's office. A cold rain pattered down, but she was standing under a large overhang and was only dusted with a light mist. Ron stood behind her looking concerned, and, a few yards away, Turpin was leaning against the brick wall inconspicuously reading _the Cambridge Post. _

Hermione had been returning to this same spot with Ron and Turpin for four days. She had only seen her father once, walking out of the building an opening a car door for a batty old lady who needed help getting to her cab. She had not yet seen her mother at all. She had finally decided that today was the day; now she just had to work up the courage to ring the doorbell.

"We don't have all day," Turpin said nervously as Hermione lingered near the door. "They'll start to get suspicious you know."

"It's alright Hermione," Ron said caringly. Hermione watched as he gave Turpin a menacing look. Maybe after all these years Ron really was growing up. "Take your time."

Hermione breathed slowly in, the same way she had when she was twelve and took mother-daughter yoga classes with her mum. After a moment, she finally worked up enough courage to press the little white button.

The receptionist, a woman in a sterile-looking mint-green scrub looked up from her computer and smiled at Hermione and Ron. There was a small buzz and a click. Hermione opened the glass door and stepped inside the small office. Everything about the place, from its glossy white walls to the miniature fountain depicting children holding watering cans, reminded her of a dentist's office. There was even a gumball machine full of white, sugar-free gumballs sitting in the corner.

"Good morning!" the receptionist greeted them brightly. She flashed a hygienic white smile in Hermione's direction. "Do you have an appointment with the doctor?"

Hermione began to shake her head, but Ron stepped in front of her blocking her from the receptionists view.

"No, but Ms. Perkins here has a chipped tooth that needs to be taken care of as soon as possible," Ron explained. They had decided on using false names, just for precaution.

"Oh no!" the receptionist said in the same merry voice. Hermione wondered how much she was getting paid to be so congenial. "Let me see if the doctor can fit you in." She began to type rapidly on her computer at which Ron looked utterly confused.

"Ah yes," she said smiling at Hermione and Ron again. "He should be getting back from his lunch break right about—here he is now!" She gestured to the door where a tall, slightly balding man was walking through, holding a toothbrush. Hermione almost melted. For the first time in a year, she was standing face to face with her father.

"Hello," he said. His smile bore two larger-than-average front teeth, a Granger family trademark.

"Ms. Perkins has a chipped tooth that needs to be taken care of right away," stated the receptionist.

"Oh no," Hermione's dad sympathized. "May I have a look?" He adjusted his glasses and leaned close to her.

Ron shot a glance at Hermione. They hadn't thought about actually chipping Hermione's tooth. Hermione pulled away from him.

"No fuss," the dentist said. "I understand the teeth can be a very private matter. Let's get you back to a private room."

Ron followed Hermione and her dad to a small, simple room with a dentist's chair and a short countertop full of clean utensils.

Ron lingered in the corner while Hermione propped herself on the chair. The dentist went to get some fresh tools to work on Hermione's teeth with.

"You ready," Ron asked huskily. Hermione nodded, hardly daring to speak. "Just make sure he's standing by the chair in case he falls," he said.

Hermione got up from the chair and moved to the corner.

When her dad walked back into the room, he was looking over his shoulder, talking to someone in the waiting room.

Hermione tensed up, and pulled her wand out of her jacket. She breathed in deeply trying to think of something happy. She wondered whether her dad would be mad at her.

"Oh!" he said when he saw that she was standing up. "Do you want to sit down on the chair ma'am?"

Hermione cleared her mind and flicked her wand at her father before she could talk herself out of it. Alan looked dazed for a minute. His eyes crossed crookedly, and he looked up at the ceiling. After a moment he looked back down. He probably would have been fine, but when he saw Hermione, he took a step back toward his chair and fainted.

"Protego!" Ron shouted, and an invisible shield broke his fall. He went over to Hermione's dad and lowered him to the ground. Hermione too looked weak, and lowered herself into the dentist's chair as Wendell Wilkins had suggested just seconds ago.

A few minutes later, they had revived Mr. Granger. They had finally convinced him to walk a few blocks to a small coffee shop.

"Just go away, Turpin," Ron had yelled over his shoulder, when Turpin tried to follow them. Turpin had been getting on everyone's nerves lately. And he relentlessly and shamelessly tried to win over Hermione, who had already made it very clear Ron was her boyfriend.

They slid into a small booth at the coffee shop a few minutes later.

"Two decaf coffees and a hot chocolate with whipped cream and a little bit of cinnamon for him," Hermione said, gesturing to Ron. She remembered that Ron didn't like coffee; perhaps he'd like hot chocolate better.

"Hermione?" her dad asked weakly. He stretched his hand across the table and grabbed hers.

"Dad," Hermione said, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," his eyes glossed over with tears. "But you said we'd never see you again."

"I wasn't sure," Hermione said. Her own face was wet.

"So I'm guessing this Voldemort character is dead," her father said, rubbing his red eyes.

"Yes," Hermione smiled. "Gone." The man looked relieved.

"So…what now?" he asked.

"Order 316!" the cashier yelled.

"Now we go get our coffee," Hermione said, starting to get up.

"I'll get it," Ron hastened out of the booth before Hermione could protest.

"I mean where do we go from here?" asked Alan.

"Well, we should start by removing the memory charm from Mum," Hermione said. "Then we can talk."

"Mum?" asked her father brightening up. "You mean Nancy? Was she Monica?" Hermione nodded, thankful that he was catching on fast.

"So you know where she went then?"

"Went?" Hermione asked. Ron came back with three styrofoam mugs and sat down next to Hermione. "Doesn't she work with you?"

Her dad turned pale as if he was about to tell a big secret. He opted for a long sip of the scorching coffee before speaking.

"Monica and I," he began. "Well we didn't know we'd been married for years. I think the charm changed the memories we had of loving each other too."

"What happened?" Hermione asked urgently.

"We split up!" Alan cried. "Oh, I wish I could go back in time and fix it Hermione!"

Hermione felt heavy. She felt like each of her limbs was made of stone, and she was sinking rapidly into a sea of quicksand from which she could never climb out. Her problems were never truly solved. There was always something else. Some other loop, twist, or turn to throw her plans awry.

"Merlin," she said softly, as she closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the vinyl booth.

* * *

Harry was wasting time playing Exploding Snap in the kitchen with Ginny. He couldn't wait for dinner to be over because the Weasleys were playing three-a-side Quidditch after. Charlie swore Quidditch was always more fun in the dark.

Mrs. Weasley was bustling around, preparing spaghetti puttanesca for dinner. Harry had wanted to help, but Mrs. Weasley had insisted she had gone without help for so many years that accepting it now would be an insult to her.

Harry felt that the Weasleys spent most of their time in the kitchen. Even when it wasn't time for a meal, the family seemed drawn to the room as if it held special meaning to them.

The deck of cards exploded in Ginny's face.

"You win again, Harry," she said, somewhat bitterly. Harry laughed and prodded the deck with his wand so that it shuffled itself magically.

He jumped slightly when he heard a crash, and an owl soared through the kitchen over Mrs. Weasley's head.

"What in the name of—"

The owl landed on the table in a heap, scattering the cards of the reshuffled deck all over the floor. Losing its will to stand up, the owl flopped onto its back, but it still stuck its tiny foot into the air, as if it was his life's mission to deliver the letter.

"Drama Queen," Ginny muttered as she untied the letter from Errol's leg.

"Dear Mum...oh it's for you, Mum," Ginny said scanning the letter before Mrs. Weasley snatched it away. She slapped Ginny on the head with the letter, smiling.

"Dear Mum, I—" Mrs. Weasley began to read aloud but stopped almost immediately. Her smile faded and her worry lines etched deeper into her face.

"What does it say?" Ginny asked quietly when Mrs. Weasley finished reading.

Mrs. Weasley did her best to brighten immediately: "Percy isn't coming back immediately. He ran into a spot of trouble in Askaban. Don't worry he's fine; he'll just be gone longer than we expected."

She pointed her wand at the letter and it burst into flames and went out: "Don't worry," she said at the look on Harry's and Ginny's faces. "That's _all_ it said."

She then pointed her wand at the broken window: "_Reparo._"

Her efforts proved to be a waste though, when another owl crashed through the window and tumbled to the ground.

"I can understand Errol, but _you_!" Molly shouted at the tiny grey owl that was now fluttering around, inches from her grasp. She finally grabbed Pig and set him firmly on the table. She untied the letter hastily, and threw him out the window, so he wouldn't bother her in the kitchen any longer.

"_Reparo!_" she fixed the window for a second time with a flick of her wand.

"Dear Mum. Oh dear, Lord." She clutched the note to her chest. She glanced again, but this time she read it out loud. "It's Ron. We're okay. We ran into a spot of trouble in Australia, and we're on the search for Hermione's mum. Don't worry about us though. We have Turpin, no matter how incompetent he seems. We'll send an owl when more news comes our way. Ron."

She disintegrated the second letter and went back to cooking.

"Where's Hermione's mum?" Harry asked thickly.

"Dunno," Ginny said. "I also didn't know Ron knew how to spell incompetent; that's a Percy word."

* * *

Harry avoided looking at the cameras as he walked across the lawn toward the broom shed in the Weasley's front yard. The reporters weren't able to get within a hundred yards of the house, but the broom shed was just far enough away that they could get some good shots of him. Ginny followed behind him.

They grabbed the first six brooms they saw, each in varying degrees of disrepair.

Harry snatched up his Firebolt and handed it to Ginny: "Want to use it?"

Ginny grinned and took the broom gingerly, making sure to not scratch it on anything. It was a beautiful broom, still in nearly-perfect condition, faster than any broom she'd ever seen. She'd only ever flown one in her dreams.

"You can hold it," Harry joked. "It's just a broom. It's not like it's Mrs. Norris or anything."

They walked with their arms full of brooms to the backyard orchard where they had spent many nights in their school-age summers playing Quidditch. The reporters followed behind them, thankfully held back by Mr. Weasley's enchantments.

"Ginny, Harry, Captains," Charlie said when they reached the others.

"Your pick," Ginny said gesturing to the other Weasleys.

Harry took a moment to size them up: Charlie, George, Bill, or Mr. Weasley—Mrs. Weasley and Fleur sat in lawn chairs on the sidelines sipping Butterbeers and gossiping about girly things.

"Let's see…George," said Harry. George rushed over to Harry and gave him a high-five.

"Charlie."

"Mr. Weasley."

"Bill."

The teams were decided: Harry, George, and Mr. Weasley versus Ginny Charlie and Bill.

"Oh dang, we forgot the balls," Harry sighed. "_Accio._"

The old leather trunk meandered toward them as if it were too old to go any faster. Finally it hit a tree and burst open. A Quaffle, one Bludger—the other had flown away one day and never returned, and a Snitch flew out of the trunk with surprising energy. The game began.

Harry kicked off from the Cleansweep Seven, bursting high into the air. In the time it had taken him to get situated on the broom, he had lost sight of the Snitch. The challenge was only heightened by the amount of trees in the orchard and the waning sun.

"Harry!" George yelled as he threw the faded, read Quaffle in Harry's direction. Harry's hands stung when he caught the leather ball, but he held on tightly. He gripped his broom tightly in his left hand and raced forward toward a makeshift goal that was really three Muggle hula-hoops tied to various limbs of an old tree. He threw the ball at the goal, but it was caught by Ginny who rushed it to the other side of the orchard in a matter of seconds.

George used an old log to bat the Bludger in her direction, but she swerved and dodged it. She shot and scored in their goal. Arthur, who was supposed to be Keeper looked sheepishly at Harry and George.

"It's all right!" called Mrs. Weasley from below. "You'll get it next time, dear."

Harry took the opportunity to scan the field for a glimmer of gold that was the Snitch. He didn't see it anywhere. For an hour he perused the orchard looking for the golden ball. He was beginning to think it flew off to be with the missing Bludger.

Finally he spotted it, glimmering just below Ginny who was scanning the orchard from above a tall oak tree.

"Gin!" he called, and she snapped her attention to him.

"I really wanted you to use my Firebolt to prove that I can beat you without it," Harry called as he shot straight at her.

Ginny swerved, and the Snitch shot into the trees. Harry pulled down on the handle of the broom, but his control over the Cleansweep wasn't as good as on his own broom. He was headed for the trees. He crashed softly in the top branches, moaning softly. On his way down his broomtail got caught in Ginny's robes, and she was pulled down on top of him.

He was now lying in the top branches of the tree, concealed from the rest of the Weasleys by the bright green leaves. Ginny was panting as she pushed her sweaty hair off of her forehead and stared at him. She got caught a branch of two above him, and her red hair fell down on the right side of her face and tickled his neck. He tried to get up, but a million leaves were hindering his path.

"Slick Potter," she smirked kissing him. She grabbed his hand in hers and sat up on the highest branch. "But just not good enough!" she held up the Snitch in her hand above the tree. "I got it!" she yelled to her team.

* * *

A/N: New chapter, yay! Transition chapters are extremely hard for me to write because I generally don't know what's going to happen in them until I'm actually typing it up, but don't think that this makes them any less important. In fact, this chapter is extremely important, so I hope you read it—I guess if you're reading this you have read it. I'm also very frustrated with my inability to spell definitely: I get it wrong every single time. I also have trouble with completely. It's easy too: just spell the word and add –ly. Why is this so hard for me? Damn you adverbs. Please leave a review telling me what you think. I stress too much over my poor grammar skills. P.S. I probably won't be updating for a few weeks because of Easter and EOC exams coming up, but I'll try my darnedest. P.P.S. This is the longest author's note ever, sorry for the inconvenience.

* * *

Aww, I had an adorable mental picture of the second to the last paragraph. I wish I could draw a picture and show you guys. These are the times when I wish my drawings skills were above average...

* * *

**Sammie**


	7. The Tales of Beetle the Bad  Mouth

**Chapter Seven  
The Tales of Beetle the Bad-Mouth  
**

In the month that followed, Mrs. Weasley became increasingly stressed. This was easily measured in the amount of food she produced on a daily basis. It started simple: an extra batch of cookies, an apple pie, an extra casserole to send to Bill and Fleur. Now, Mrs. Weasley spent most of her time in the kitchen baking everything from 'just two or three soufflés' to four tiered cakes with magically iced snitches that actually flew across the icing.

Mr. Weasley explained that Molly had a process of grieving. She would (1) yell at anyone in sight over anything that wasn't absolutely perfect, (2) clean every square inch of the house and make sure nothing was out of place, (3) pretend like nothing was wrong and become deliriously happy, and (4) cook until her hands were raw and every single pan in the house was dirtied.

Harry assumed that if by now, she was already that far into the grieving process, she was doing very well, so he didn't try and stop her from cooking. And she was a very well rounded cook, so it wasn't like he was complaining about the extra treats she prepared.

Nothing newsworthy had happened recently. Neither Percy nor Hermione and Ron had returned from their trips. The owls they sent were always concise, just "Hello, we're okay. We'll be back as soon as possible." None of the Weasleys knew that much of what was happening to Ron, Hermione, and Percy, which may have been a stressor in Mrs. Weasley's life.

Harry spent most of his days with Ginny or George doing the things that Weasleys did in a typical day: de-gnoming the garden, playing three-a-side Quidditch, going down to Ottery St. Catchpole to play pranks on the Muggles that lived there, and helping Mr. Weasley with whatever Muggle gadget he was currently obsessing over—last week it was a cassette player: "It plays the music of a whole symphony on just one machine!". If it weren't for the fact that he had the Malfoy trial looming in the not-so-distant future, reporters at his throat wherever he went, and the responsibility of being Ginny's boyfriend, Harry might say his life was easy at the moment.

Today, Harry had just finished the first chapter of _Queer Quills of Quebec _when Ginny stormed into the living room furiously. She whipped out a newspaper from behind her back and slammed it so forcefully onto the stout coffee table that it shook and shimmied away from her.

"Mum! Dad! Everyone! Get down here, you'll want to see this!" she cried loudly out the door of the house.

Harry snatched up _The Daily Prophet _and stared at a full-page painting of himself and Ginny intertwined with their noses nuzzling each other affectionately. It was a position in which he and Ginny had never been, and, he hoped, never would be in—he was not one to show love by rubbing noses.

"What is it, dear?" Mr. Weasley said rushing into the living room. "Are you alright?" Mrs. Wesley, Charlie, and George followed in on his heels. Harry spread the newspaper out on the coffee table so that they could all see the article.

_From the Desk of Rita Leanne Skeeter… "To my lovely readers who have stayed with me since the humble beginnings of my career, I thank you. I have finally found the time and willpower to tell the tale of a certain wizard: famous in the eyes of the general public. I have invested countless sleepless nights and valuable resources to ensure that the latest installment in the Rita Skeeter collection, a scintillating book I like to call _Harry, A History, _flows seamlessly from page to page as we uncover the mysteries behind an average boy known around the world as the Boy Who Lived. The missing puzzle pieces, questions, and things you never even dreamed Harry Potter capable of will be revealed in my 1,400-page novel (a mere eight Galleons at Flourish and Blotts). What was the real reason Harry fell off the face of the earth in the year leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts? What trusted ministry officials, even friends did Potter rebel against to have his way? Can we truly believe that Voldemort returned the night the dashing Cedric Diggory died? And there is one secret marriage proposal that will knock your scarves off…you'll just have to read my book to find out what! All this and more plus exclusive words from Mr. Potter himself said to not-so-secret lover, Virginia Weasley, just hours after letting his friends die for him while he cowered in the headmaster's office. _Harry, A History _hits stores on July 30__th__, so I hope to see you buying it when it comes out!_

"She's foul!" Ginny retorted, disintegrating the paper with her wand. "Who would even buy that book?"

"I'm curious as to where she got her information," pondered Mrs. Weasley. "And what's this about a secret marriage proposal?"

Harry saw Ginny look away quickly. He scratched at his forearm.

"Who knows? Rita Skeeter is a piece of sh—" Charlie began before Mrs. Weasley cut him off with a harsh, "Language, Charlie!"

"It'll sell though," George said. "Even more copies than Dumbledore's, I'd imagine."

"There's nothing we can do about it, so let's not get too harried," Mr. Weasley said.

Molly looked up at Harry. "We won't stress over this, dear. We've been through this before. We can handle it. We—"

"Honestly, it's fine, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said truthfully. "This isn't the first time Rita's written rubbish about me. If anyone believes her…" Harry's voice faded when he realized that at least part of what Skeeter wrote had to have truth to it, no matter how exaggerated that truth might be. Rita had known about the day when he told Ginny everyhting and the proposal. Harry wondered what else she knew.

"Well Harry, I hope you remembered that Teddy's coming over in about an hour—Andromeda deserves an afternoon. I know that you and Ginny were planning on visiting Diagon Alley. Is there any way you could squeeze in room for Teddy?"

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley. He can come with us," Harry said smiling. He saw Mrs. Weasley give a slight twitch before she smiled motherly.

"I'm not sure Harry, you've only met Teddy once. He's only three months old as well. Maybe we should wait until he's a little older or…"

"No, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said firmly. "I'm his godfather, and I want to. I'm sure Teddy won't be any trouble for us, and we'll only stay out for an hour or two. I'll pack a bag of all the essentials: bottles, nappies, pacifiers, entertainment…"

"I still don't know, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, equally unyielding. "The last time Teddy visited he was content and all, but that's not what babies are like in real life. They cry, need to be fed, burped, and entertained at all times—no exceptions."

"I know it'll be tough Mrs. Weasley, but I need the practice," Harry asked. "Please?"

Mrs. Weasley's gaze softened, but her eyebrows stayed closely knit. "Practice? Whatever for?"

Harry was certain Ginny hadn't told Mrs. Weasley about his spontaneous marriage proposal, and he wasn't sure he wanted Mrs. Weasley to know quite yet.

"Well Teddy is going to be visiting right?" Harry asked as though this tidbit of information had been obvious from the beginning. "I'm going to have to get used to being around him, Mrs. Weasley. He is my godson after all."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Call me Molly, Love. You're not going to let this go are you?"

Harry shook his head, no.

She sighed again. "Well fine, you can take him. But you have to be back when I say so. And you have to take everything I tell you to. And don't let him out of your sight. And stay in Diagon Alley."

Two hours later, Harry found himself breathing in the fresh air of Diagon Alley. He pushed a pram forward into the busy street and let the magic of the place wash over his body. It was like drinking hot chocolate after playing in the snow all day. Ginny followed behind him, clasping his forearm with her hand and leaning into him.

"It's Potter," he heard a voice whisper to another person in the street. Whispers, Harry could deal with; he'd certainly encountered his fair share during his time at Hogwarts. Fortunately, whispers were all Harry encountered as he strolled with the baby pram down Diagon Alley.

As he walked though, he began to see things that were slightly out of place: Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was tightly boarded up; Gringott's, the wizard bank that sat regally at the end of the street, now had three rows of armed goblins lining its perimeter as tightened security from when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had broken in to Bellatrix Lestrange's vault three months ago; Ollivander's was closed; and, perhaps worst of all the out of place things he saw, was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was still as bright orange as ever, but nothing was moving inside of the shop. It was only a fraction of the life it had been. Every so often, a child would skip gleefully to its doors only to return to his or her parents with disappointment etched on his or her face. Harry wondered whether or not George would ever return to the shop he had once run with his twin brother.

"It's sad really," Ginny said. She too was starting at the shop. "I wish George would start working again. He was always happier when he worked. You know that, You were there."

Harry nodded and pushed the pram forward. Ginny had taken responsibility of the bag, which was stuffed with enough baby supplies to last them a week. Mrs. Weasley's reasoning had been, "Well you never know…"

Harry and Ginny chose to dwell in the places in Diagon Alley that had returned to their former glory. Ginny took a look in Madame Malkin's for a new pair of dress robes. Harry spent some time in Wizacre's looking for potions supplies: even though he was not going back to Hogwarts, a remedial Potions class was inevitable if he wanted to build up his poor potions skills.

"Flourish and Blotts?" Ginny asked, once they were out on the main road again. Harry fought the urge to throw something at a woman who had been gawking at him for at least twenty yards.

"Don't see why not," Harry said. "Although, we should probably get back home after that. Teddy's getting fussy, and your mum will throw a fit if we down get back in the allotted time period."

Ginny giggled as they walked forward.

"Is this your baby?" asked the same lady who had been eyeing Harry, as they got closer to her.

"No, just babysitting," Harry said stiffly, trying to push the pram forward. Ginny pulled the shade over Teddy blocking him from the lady. The woman stepped in front of the pram, and the busy main street made it impossible to move around her.

"Will you please move?" Ginny asked the woman firmly. Her voice sounded like she was seconds from losing her temper.

"So you're the mother?" the woman inquired.

"No, I am not the mother of this child, and my friend here isn't his father, so I would appreciate it if you would get out of our way!" Ginny's voice continued to grow louder until she was almost yelling. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the woman.

"Just curious," the woman said slickly, and she trotted off to do whatever middle-aged ladies do in Diagon Alley.

Ginny heaved a sigh of frustration. "Women!"

"Last time I checked you were one of those women," Harry grinned. "Regardless, you were pretty badass back there. Next time, try not to be so threatening, and be more, 'I don't care,' okay? It makes you seem much nicer."

"How do you do it?" Ginny asked. "Everyone at Hogwarts was whispering about you all the time, and it didn't faze you at all. It was awful."

"At the end of the day, do you really care if that woman thought we had a kid together?" Harry said. Honestly, he did care what people thought of him—it was only human of him—but he didn't let them see that.

When they reached Flourish and Blotts, they packed up the pram, and Harry took a gurgling Teddy in his arms. Harry was sweating excessively, as Ginny told him the proper way to carry a baby.

"Support his neck," she said, moving Harry's arm to the proper position. "And don't drop him or shake him."

Teddy wriggled in his arms, and Harry held tightly onto him. He was extremely worried about dropping the eight-kilogram baby. He stared into Teddy's eyes and said, "Now don't let me drop you or your gramma is going to murder me."

For the first time, he noticed something in Teddy: even though his hair had remained the same color of turquoise it had been the night his parents died, his eyes had changed. Harry had been told that Teddy's eyes were a bright blue; most babies were born with blue eyes. But now, Teddy's were a familiar color. A color Harry had stared at in the mirror everyday, and a color that he was told was precisely the same shade as his mother's eyes. He wondered whether it was the lighting or because Teddy actually recognized his godfather. Either way, Harry was filled with joy.

They walked around Floursih and Blotts for a while. Ginny looked for a birthday present for Hermione even though her birthday wasn't for another two months, and Harry and Teddy admired the brightly colored stuffed dragons in the display rack.

"I bet you'd like one of those, wouldn't you?" Harry said, making a mental note to get him one.

The three ran into a sticky spot when two people Harry hadn't expected to see out and about walked straight into them as they were walking around the corner of a tall bookcase.

"Hello?" Harry said, slightly confused. Narcissa Malfoy was standing in front of him. Draco cowered behind her, suddenly very interested in an advertisement for Fizzing Whizzbangs.

"Harry," Narcissa nodded forwardly. Her face still looked like she was smelling a wet hippogriff, but now her wrinkles were more defined, despite how much makeup she used to try and conceal them. They paused awkwardly for a moment before Narcissa spoke again. "Our house is being inspected by Aurors today seeing as our trial is coming up soon. We were told to get out."

Harry had hoped Narcissa would not bring up the trial. She knew that Harry had planned to speak on behalf of the Malfoys, but little had been exchanged between the two of them since then.

"I'm still going to do…what I said I'd do," Harry said slowly.

"Yes, I know," Narcissa said. "Draco said you never go back on your word."

Harry nodded, and Draco still didn't look up.

"I'm very sorry, about the house searching," Harry said, truthfully. He had already had The Malfoys' manor searched once; he doubted a second search would uncover anything new. He pushed the thoughts of the last time he had visited the manor firmly out of his head. Narcissa had saved his life to save Draco. Which meant there was love in her heart. And where love was, no darkness could ever penetrate that place. Harry wouldn't let it.

"How's Lucius?" Harry asked. Narcissa's eyes fluttered and tears sprang to them. Harry felt uncomfortable. There had been too many tears in the past couple of months.

"Not well. Azkaban was hard for him the last time. He's been drinking...a lot. I sent him away about a month ago, and Draco's the only one that has seen him since."

Again, Harry nodded. He adjusted Teddy in his arms. Teddy gave a small cry, and Narcissa's gaze snapped to him.

"The baby. It's Andromeda's grandson?" Narcissa asked, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her makeup was smeared on her cheeks, but she didn't seem to notice or care.

"Yes," Harry said.

"I'd understand if you didn't want me to, but may I hold him?" she asked.

Harry looked at Ginny, whose face was blank. He understood it was his decision. He was Teddy's godfather after all, and Narcissa was Teddy's great-aunt.

"Just a moment wouldn't hurt," Harry said weakly, seeing the look on Narcissa's face. He carefully gave her the chubby little child.

Narcissa's face lit up when she held Teddy in her hands. She looked warmer like Andromeda and less like her other sister, Bellatrix.

"I know…Andromeda and I weren't—aren't very friendly, but this child. This child was brought here out of love. And not love for blood status but the love two people had for each other. He's a special child. I sometimes wish..."

It was that moment that Teddy chose to start fussing. Narcissa handed him back immediately. Harry knew that Narcissa loved Draco and maybe even Lucius. He knew it was Lucius who had brought his family close to Tom Riddle, not Narcissa. He knew Narcissa wanted Draco to be good, like Andromeda was good. Harry knew that Narcissa thought it was too late for Draco. But it wasn't too late. It was never too late.

"We shouldn't dwell, Draco," she said, snapping out of her trance. Before Harry knew it, the two had stalked briskly away, as if nothing but a "hello" had been exchanged between them.

"We should go too, Harry," Ginny said, much more kindly. "Looks like Teddy could use a change."

A few minutes later, they were walking up to the Burrow, not yet spotted by the reporters who formed almost a complete circle around the perimeter of the Burrow. Ginny and Harry chose the long route, walking in the cover of the leafy trees that stretched for miles behind the Burrow.

"Oh, Teddy," Ginny urged the bawling baby. "Please be quiet. It'll only be a few more minutes before we're back home. Why don't you count how many clouds there are in the sky? Or how many trees? Or how many fish there are in the pond?"

Surprisingly, Teddy was quelled by her voice.

"You have quite a gift with babies," Harry said softly, so the reporters wouldn't hear him.

"Yeah, well, I just did the same thing Mum used to do when Percy only got an Exceeds Expectations on his Defense OWL," Ginny joked.

A small tabby leaped out from behind the trees and circled Ginny, Harry and Teddy. Then it came up to Harry and nuzzled its head in his pant.

Harry handed Teddy to Ginny and reached down for the cat. "Hey there, Little Bloke." He stroked the cat's coat, and it gave a warm, somewhat impatient purr. Harry adjusted his glasses and noticed that the cat had two spots of dark fur around its eyes, almost as if it were wearing glasses.

"Professor?" Harry asked. The cat nodded once. "What are you doing here?"

The tabby raised its paw toward the Burrow, which could be faintly seen in between two trees.

"Oh you want into the Burrow?" he asked. The cat nodded again. Nodding was a highly unusual activity for a cat to partake in, but Harry remembered his first day at Hogwarts when the transfiguration teacher had magically changed from a cat to a human right before Harry's and Ron's eyes.

"Alright then," Harry said. The group walked toward the scene, stopping only when they reached the mob of relentless reporters.

"Potter, what do you think of Skeeter's new book?"

"Whose baby is that, Weasley? Is it Potter's?"

"How did you and Ginny hide that pregnancy form the wizarding world?"

"Did Harry only propose to you because of your child?"

Harry returned each question with an annoyed, "No comment," but Ginny was not so kind.

"HEY! Shove off before I have to do it for you!" she yelled loudly. Everyone quieted, and all that was heard was the snapping of a thousand cameras taking picture of an angry Ginny holding an infant in her hands. "Yes, Harry and I are dating. No, this is not our child. No, Harry didn't propose to me, not that it's any of your business. And yes, Skeeter's book is a load of crap, and anyone who pays eight galleons for it has no life. Now get out of here, and don't come back!"

A few of the reporters scampered. More of them took time to pack up their stuff and leave to write front-page stories of the outburst; they would be back on a slow news day. And only a few stayed to remain taking pictures.

Ginny stalked through the back gate roughly. Harry was right next to her.

"Remember what you said about me coming off nicer when I didn't lose my temper?" Ginny asked stonily. "Well sometimes _nice _doesn't work for me." Harry stared at her admirably as she walked back up to the house.

When they reached the house and made sure all the doors and blinds were closed, McGonagall changed back into a human.

"Harry, don't ever call me a 'little bloke' again," she said.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said.

"It's Minerva, Dear," Professor McGonagall said. She propped herself onto a chair at the kitchen table. Harry almost grinned at how formal she looked compared to the eccentric Burrow décor.

"I needed some advice," she said. "Maybe you should sit down too."

Harry sat down. Ginny rushed out of the room with Teddy, claiming she had to change his nappy. Harry and Minerva were alone in the kitchen.

"It's about Hogwarts," Minerva said calmly. Her eyes were staring at Harry, but he could not read if this meant good news or bad news.

"Because of the nature of the attack on Hogwarts this past spring," Minerva began. "This September, students will not be able stay at Hogwarts. We have to find somewhere else for them to learn. And we've only got three options, two of which aren't that great."

Harry gaped at her is disbelief, surely any damage done to the castle could be fixed?

* * *

A/N: Finally, a new chapter. For anyone who's confused, right now it's almost August in the story. Seasonal allergies made this chapter hard to write, I spent my time typing and blowing my nose almost equally, but I managed to get another chapter out. I really like this one too. Sorry I don't know that much about three-month-old babies. Hopefully Teddy isn't being too unusual for three-month-old. They can't talk yet, right? (My friends wonder why I have Babies . com bookmarked on my computer.) If you left a review, I would really appreciate it. It only takes thirty seconds.

* * *

**Sammie**


	8. Bits and Pieces

**Chapter Eight  
****Bits and Pieces**

"Erm…I'm not exactly certain I'm the proper person to talk to about this, Profes—Headmistress," Harry stammered.

Minerva McGonagall stared at him intensely. "Minerva, dear," she repeated dismissively. "And who else do I have to talk to?"

Harry swallowed thickly. "Well, er, Mr. Weas—Arthur. You could talk to Arthur. Or Kingsley…Yeah Kingsley would be much better at this than I am. Remember, I'm the seventeen-year-old kid who only left school a year ago. I hardly think I'll be of any use to you."

"Well, yes," McGonagall said. "You left school a year ago, but you're also the kid that led Dumbledore's Army, saved dozens of lives, and beat—well you know. I've already talked to Shacklebolt. We've narrowed it down to three schools. I just need to be certain before I send out the letters."

"Three schools?" Harry asked. He wished desperately that Minerva McGonagall would realize he was the worst person to ask about education locations. He was, after all, a school dropout. "I never actually finished school, McGonagall.

"I know, Harry!" she said a little bit heatedly. "I realize that you're only almost eighteen—happy early birthday by the way—and I realize that you only made it to sixth year. I know that you only have your OWL examinations completed, that you need remedial potions badly and you still have not acquired an Apparation license. I know all that Harry.

"What you need to realize is that you're being stupid! You're the boy that passed through the obstacles guarding the philosopher's stone. You're the boy that beat the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. You saved the lives of Sirius Black and Buckbeak in your third year. You learned how to conjure a Patronus at only thirteen. You won the Triwizard Tournament at only fourteen. You—"

"Fine! Fine!" Harry said slamming his hand down on the table. "Enough with the accomplishments. I'll help you choose a damn school!"

"Thank you," Minerva said softly, as she began to lay out their options.

* * *

Hermione Granger was shaking from the core of her body. If she hadn't been walking through a crowd of Muggles, she would have cursed his fingers off. She kept her eyes on the flaming red hair as she followed it through the crowd. Rain beat down on her face, but she was so furious she could hardly stand it.

Hermione tried to catch up. Every time she got closer, he would speed up. Every time she got too close, he would duck into the crowd or turn and go the opposite direction.

She was soaking wet: her clothes, her shoes, and her hair. Drenched and shaking. She finally removed her sandals in order to run faster, to maybe catch up. By that time he had flitted in between two very tall buildings. Hermione raced past a mother and her children, almost knocking the youngest child, maybe three or four, to the hard concrete. She ignored the mother yelling nasty things at her and continued. She wondered how far behind they were.

Turning into the alley between the two old brick buildings, Hermione saw that there was a chain-link fence connecting the two buildings. A tall, thin person was scrambling up the fence, concealed partially from her by the large orange rubbish bin against the right building.

"Hey, STOP!" she screamed loudly. Her voice echoed through the empty alley causing the redhead to jerk with surprise. He continued climbing, clinging to the wet metal of the fence.

Hermione raced down the alley, her feet hitting the wet pavement in burning footfalls. Once or twice, she slipped and her knees and hands slid against the concrete painfully, but she continued running down the seemingly endless alley.

When she reached him, she grabbed him by his belt loops and tugged forcefully. He slipped a bit but grabbed the top of the fence and held tight.

"No! That wasn't what it looked like, and we're going to TALK!" Hermione screamed again. She didn't much care, but the loudness of the rain and thunder was concealing her voice from pedestrians. On the word "talk," Hermione tugged with all of her might wrapping her arms around the middle of his waist. He toppled down on top of her, and they lie in a heap at the bottom of the fence.

Ron scrambled up and tried to run again, but Hermione was quicker. "Oh no you don't!" She yanked out her wand and thrust it at him threateningly. "You aren't walking out so quickly!"

"What do you want?" he asked dejectedly. "I know the truth. I saw it with my own eyes. I know you never really liked me."

Hermione grimaced. "That wasn't what it looked like!" she yelled.

"Then what was it?" Ron asked. "Even if it was, even if it was his fault…You said 'I love you.' What am I supposed to think?"

"Hermione! Ron!" they both snapped their heads up.

"In here," Hermione said lifting up the lid of the rubbish bin. "Get in."

"I don't think I will."

Hermione's eyes leaked out tears that Ron could not see because of the rain. "He'll find us," she cried softly. "And then he'll do it again. Imperius me, I mean. That's why we kissed. That's why I said 'I love you.' I had to."

Ron's eyes turned the size of saucers, and he quickly helped her up into the rubbish bin. "I'm going to kill him," was the last thing Hermione heard before the lid of the bin crashed above her head, and she was doused in darkness.

She sat on a flattened cardboard box for a long time. She had no way of telling how much time though. It was still light outside. The rain had only picked up, banging a lonely beat on the metal bin.

Hermione shook against the side of the bin, trying to subside her sobs. She hated this feeling, hopelessness. She hated that Ron had to get angry. She hated that Ron had to get hurt. She hated that Turpin was so mean.

But even more than wishing Turpin would die in a fire and leave her family alone, Hermione wished for her mother. Not the mother she had when she was at Hogwarts, but the mother she had known when she was a little girl. When she could tell her mother anything. When her mother would make her chicken noodle soup, wrap her up in bed every night, take her to the bookstore to buy a new book, bake her a sugar-free cake on her birthday, surprise her with a brand new bike, cheer for her at football games even though she never scored a goal. She wanted that mother, and she wanted that mother right now.

Later, maybe minutes perhaps hours later, the bin clanged open. Ron's soaking wet head peered over the top. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Hermione said wiping her eyes. It hardly mattered, she was still cold, wet and shaking. The rain had stopped. Hermione looked around. There was no sign of Turpin.

"He's gone," Ron said weakly. "If he comes back, I'll murder him."

Hermione wanted to smile, but she couldn't bring herself to. Instead, she thrust her arms around Ron and buried her head in the folds of his sopping jacket. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her out of the bin. Ron performed a drying spell on their clothes and hair. Hermione closed her eyes.

"I really want my mother back," she wept, ruining his freshly dried clothes.

"We'll find her, Hermione. I swear it," Ron said, enveloping her in his arms.

* * *

_two hours earlier…_

Ron slumped low into his chair in the lobby of the hotel. He was sick and tired of Turpin's nonsense. Turpin had been flirting with Hermione the whole trip, making sure Ron didn't get any free time with his girlfriend.

Ron had a feeling, nagging in the pit of his stomach, that Hermione was actually giving in to his incessant incivility, and he did not like it one bit. In fact, Turpin was up in the rooms and the only other person up there was Hermione.

"Maybe we should go check on Hermione," Ron said to Mr. Granger. Ever since he got his memory back, Mr. Granger had been ever so slightly out-of-whack. Hermione said this was normal and should go away in a few weeks.

"We left her five minutes ago, Ronald," Mr. Granger pointed out. He smoothed his hands along the arms of the polyester chair. "She'll be down with Turpin soon."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Ron grumbled. He sunk lower into his chair, and his wand dug painfully into the small of his back.

Mr. Granger lifted his coffee from the table and wiped away the small wet rim that had formed on its surface. "Don't worry Ron. Everything will be all right. We're meant to find my wife today or tomorrow, right?"

Ron nodded. "But we were supposed to find her when we found you. It's not exactly all right."

In reality it was ten minutes, but Ron waited what seemed like forever for Hermione and Turpin. His need to see her was growing. He'd be the first to admit that he didn't trust Turpin, not in the slightest. He tucked his knees under himself. He slumped his back across the arm of his chair. He uncurled his legs and laid them across the chair's other arm. He sat bolt upright. No matter how he positioned himself, he could not get comfortable.

He mumbled something to Mr. Weasley, who was waving outside to the passing cars, and raced toward the lifts. Ron jammed his finger into the small triangular "up" arrow and tapped his foot impatiently. The numbers at the top of the lift inched their way down. 4…3…2…1…There was a small ding, and the metal doors slid open smoothly, and ambient music slid out with it.

There were two people already inside the lift, and Ron recognized them. It was Turpin kissing Hermione. No, he must have forced her to do this. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

"I love you," he heard Hermione breathe. Turpin turned slowly, and Hermione's face came into view. Her eyes locked with Ron's and she stood frozen. Then, something seemed to snap. She shoved Turpin to the ground and yelled something. Ron looked away. He couldn't stand her. Everything nice she had done on this trip, she had done for Turpin.

"RON!" she screamed, but it was too late. Ronald Weasley had left the building.

* * *

It was raining. It was raining, but the reporters were relentlessly snapping pictures, trying to catch a picture of the crazed fan-girl, Ginny Weasley, and her big family that had taken The-Boy-Who-Killed-You-Know-Who under its wing. Ever since her little outburst less than a week ago, the reporters had been more insatiable than ever, even at night. They would never be satisfied, and they were destroying any hope of privacy the Weasleys ever had.

Ginny went to the window and opened it wide. She heard the clicks of a hundred cameras, a hundred black lenses pointed toward her. "Oh bugger off you tosspots!" she cried across the yard. She slammed the window shut and wrenched the curtains closed.

Ginny slumped onto the couch in the living room, pulled a red and gold afghan—knitted by her mother, of course—over her body, and attempted to rest a bit. Truthfully, she hadn't been sleeping very well at all. She thought that when Lord Voldemort died, Harry would be able to sleep through a whole night. But almost every night she heard it, outside her room, he creaked on the creaky floorboard and woke her up. After that, it was a bear to get back to sleep, and she would toss fitfully thinking about it until dawn. Ginny had yet to ask Harry about his secret nighttime endeavors because she didn't want to add any more stress to her life right now. And she felt like a horrible monster for saying it, but she really didn't have the energy to worry any more. That included Harry's sleepless hours.

A persistent, ear-numbing tap woke Ginny from her thoughts. She pushed the afghan off, raced to the window, and yelled out, "SHOVE OFF YOU—oh it's you." She stared at four very innocent-looking owls, perched side by side on her windowsill: Errol, Pig, a tall tawny owl, and a small snowy owl that was not Hedwig. Ginny allowed them to come into the house.

"Hey, I've got news!" she called, hoping everyone in the house could hear her. There was an answering call of footsteps thundering down the stairs, but only Harry and George appeared in the doorway, seconds later.

"Where're Mum, Dad, and Charlie?" Ginny asked crossing her arms.

"They're at Gringotts with Bill. They want to get some money out before you get your Hogwarts letter," George explained.

"Too late," Ginny gestured to the four owls sitting on the couch.

"Brilliant," Harry said as he tripped over the knitting basket to reach the first owl. "Hogwarts, Percy, Ron and Hermione, and…" His voice trailed off as he looked at the small snowy owl. Ginny was worried he might burst into tears because the owl reminded him of Hedwig. He didn't. "And this one's from Lenka…"

George went for Percy's letter. Harry dove for Ron and Hermione's. And Ginny started untying her Hogwarts letter. George was fastest.

"Yes! He says he's fine. He'll be back for Ginny's birthday!" Fred pumped the air with his fist. "Brilliant!"

"Ron and Hermione've got good news as well," Harry said. "They found her mother, and they're taking the next flight back here, so they should be home…well pretty freakin' soon, that's what! Ginny?"

"Um… Dear Miss Weasley, we are pleased to inform you, blah blah blah. Due to extensive damages to Hogwarts Castle, this year's term will be held in the United States? At the Abbey Alver Preparatory School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? What? Why?" Besides the strange message about the location of Hogwarts, the rest of the letter was pretty much the same as it was every year. Ginny's heart sunk slightly when she realized she hadn't received a Quidditch captain's badge.

Apparently Harry had thought the same thing. "Wait no—but I was so sure—"

"That doesn't matter, Harry," Ginny said quickly. "What's this about Abbey Alver?"

"Remember that day when McGonagall came over?" Harry asked. Ginny nodded. "Well she said that Hogwarts was still too damaged to use for this semester, so we had to relocate. But don't worry, after Christmas Break everything should be back to normal."

"Er…" Ginny wasn't sure she knew quite where she stood on this matter, not yet at least. On one hand the prospect of starting at a new school seemed daunting: she had never been to any school other than Hogwarts. On another, a new school would be a fresh start, a small break from all of her memories of Hogwarts. The memories she wasn't ready to face yet.

"Um," George sidled over to the last owl. "I'm not quite sure…" He shot a spark out of his wand, and the letter fell open at his feet. "It was an accident I swear!" he shouted raising his hands above his head. The three of them stood around the letter in a semicircle.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," Ginny said casually.

"Of course not," Harry said slowly bending down to pick up the letter.

They opened it carefully and read the letter. _Dear Charlie, It was nice to hear from you again. I was certain you'd come around eventually. I love you too, and I can't wait to see you again. When are you coming back to Romania? Love, Lenka N._

"Lenka N. She seems nice enough," George shrugged.

"But Charlie has not mentioned her once!" Ginny said harshly. "So she can't be any good. Maybe the 'N' stands for Nott. Maybe she's related to the Death Eater!"

"Maybe it stands for 'nosy' as in stop nosing around in his business, Ginny!" George retorted.

Ginny crinkled her eyebrows furiously. "Are you mental? You were the one that opened the letter!"

"You were the one that found the first letter that started this whole mess!" George yelled. "Just stop Ginny. Clearly, he's in love, and we aren't supposed to stop it!" He stalked away angrily.

"Bloody hell," Ginny fumed. "What's his problem?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally.

* * *

"Hello!" came a familiar voice from outside.

Ginny perked up immediately. She dog-eared the corner of her book, _The Catcher in the Rye, _and set it down gingerly on the end table. Then, she raced out the door and flung her arms around the person that was staggering under the weight of two trunks, an owl case, and a cat cage.

"Ron!" she cried. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hermione!" Ginny cried, hugging Hermione as well.

The rest of the Weasleys came out shortly after her, each taking their own turns hugging and kissing Ron and Hermione.

"French onion soup?" Molly asked, steeping back to examine the haggard faces of Ron and Hermione.

"That would be great, Mum," Ron stammered. "Help me unpack, Harry?"

Shortly after the boys left, everyone else went their separate ways, leaving Hermione and Ginny outside in the twilight.

"So this is how it's been?" Hermione asked, referencing the cameras. "They haven't gotten bored yet?"

"No," Ginny said thickly. "Skeeter's already written a book, coming out July 31st, and it's not just an accident that that's Harry's birthday."

"That you-know-what!" Hermione grimaced. "Will you help me unpack?"

They went up to Ginny's room, where Hermione would be spending the remainder of the summer holiday. As Hermione undid the clasps on her trunk, Ginny took a moment to study her face. She looked tired, a little off, and maybe a little sad.

"So you found your parents?" Ginny asked casually.

"Yes, it took a while, but we found them eventually," Hermione said. She launched into the story about how her father and mother had broken up. Apparently Nancy Granger had been working across town in a different dental shop. It was fairly easy to find her. Once they got her back and modified her memories, she remembered Alan Granger, and the two decided to stay together, like lovebirds meeting after a long time apart. Hermione said that they were all over each other, like they hadn't seen each other in a year. Ginny guessed that when you thought you were someone else, it would be enchanting to see the person you loved when you got your memories of them back.

Hermione also said that she had made amends with her mum. Ginny wasn't certain what amends meant, but she thought it had something to do with the fact that Hermione and her mother hadn't been very close in years, ever since Hermione became a witch and went off to Hogwarts.

They continued unpacking, chatting easily, exactly like two best friends who hadn't seen each other in weeks, which was exactly what they were.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the trunk, and all that was left were a few shirts, books, and an enticing lacy bra that Hermione definitely wouldn't wear on just any old Tuesday.

"What's this?" Ginny asked, grabbing the underwear and holding it inches out of Hermione's grasp.

"Hey, give me that!" Hermione snapped reaching out and missing.

"Trying to seduce someone, Hermione?" Ginny asked cruelly. "My brother perhaps? Oh, I shouldn't have said that out loud; now I'm gagging."

Ginny threw the bra on the bed, and Hermione snatched it up and threw it into the bottom drawer of Ginny's dresser.

"Um…" Ginny began awkwardly. The thought of her brother and Hermione made her feel—well she'd rather not think about it. But she couldn't pretend that she wasn't intrigued. "Did you, er…"

Hermione slammed her trunk shut, pulled it to the ground, shoved it under the twin bed next to Ginny's, and slumped backwards onto it. "Erm, no."

Ginny sat down on her own bed and crossed her legs. She leaned backward against the wall and stared at Hermione. "Er, do you want to talk about it?" she asked, quite awkwardly.

"You know Turpin, our Auror?" Hermione asked. Her eyes glinted with a kind of anger. Ginny nodded. Hermione continued, "Well he Imperiused me. Then he dragged me to the elevator and made me kiss him and tell him I love him. Ron saw. Then Ron ran swiftly away."

Ginny gasped. "That son-of-a-bitch!" she screeched. "Who does he think he is? We should tell Kingsley and get Turpin locked up!"

"Check," Hermione said. "We stopped by the Ministry on our way back home. Turpin is currently under intense investigation. They think he was under the influence of the Imperius Curse too though because Kingsley has known Turpin since he was at Hogwarts, and he never did anything wrong."

"Who would Imperious someone as useless as Turpin?" Ginny asked. "Unless they wanted to get to you and Ron of course."

Hermione shrugged. "Any of the Death Eaters, I'd imagine. Kingsley said there's not a whole lot of evidence to go on, but we'll get this sorted out, just a small wave in an ocean of problems."

Crookshanks, Hermione's fat old cat which Nancy had taken when they moved to Australia, perched itself on Ginny's lap, purring gently while she stroked its messy orange fur.

"So what do you think of going to America, Hermione?" Ginny asked for a change of subject.

* * *

"You look…gorgeous," Harry said from the bottom of the stairs.

Ginny raced down the stairs and did a little twirl, falling in step right next to Harry. In the midst of all that was happening, it was nice to do something a little girly. Today, August fifth, was the joint birthday party of Harry, Ginny, and even Hermione, even though her birthday wasn't for another month.

"You think so?" she asked. Harry and Ginny had only been dating for three weeks, but those weeks had been almost perfect. The two had a knack for picking up right where they left off with things last year, which was needed at such a transitional time in both of their lives. It was their own little paradise that they got to be with each other away from the rest of the world.

Ginny held out a small package with blue paper and a red bow. "It's for you," she said smiling.

"Ginny, I thought we agreed, no presents for each other," Harry said, but he accepted the package and eagerly tore open the wrappings.

"Do you think I didn't notice the flowers on my vanity this morning?" Ginny asked. "Or the extra serving of whipped cream on my waffles this morning?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Just wait for your real birthday."

Ginny shoved him lightly. "You didn't have to do anything for me, you know. You don't have to be _too _sweet."

"I've just never had anyone to spoil rotten with gifts before," Harry said. He opened the box that Ginny had given him.

"Floo powder?" he asked smiling courteously.

"It's floo powder for when I go away to the United States," Ginny explained. "It's special, no fire needed. That way you can visit me anytime you want."

Harry's face smiled with understanding. "I love it," he said, enfolding Ginny in his arms. He smelled soapy and clean.

"You'd better," Ginny teased. "Cost me nine galleons, that did." Harry laughed.

They walked outside to the backyard, where four long picnic tables were jammed end to end in an enormous "L" shape. Today, the grass looked a little greener, the flowers a little fuller, the gnomes a little smaller, and the sky a little brighter. Ginny attributed this to Kingsley's minister's order that he posted outside the gate.

The party was not a mundane affair. So many people were there that there was no way they could fit on the four tables the Weasleys provided. The Grangers, the Weasleys, members of the Order of the Phoenix, Kingsley, McGonagall, the Lovegoods, Flitwick, Neville and his grandmother, Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all there. And the amount of presents they brought—Ginny wasn't complaining, but it was a lot. Three stacks were formed on the side of the house.

When Luna came she threw her arms around Ginny.

"I haven't seen you in forever!" Ginny exclaimed. "You look great!" It was true. It was welcoming to see that Luna hadn't changed a bit since they had last seen each other. Her butterbeer cork necklace, raddish earrings, and loud green sundress were welcomed with open arms.

"Oh, I know!" Luna said smiling. "It's been almost two months!"

"Have you gotten your Hogwarts letter?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, Daddy's been to that school, and he says it's a wonderful place!" Luna said merrily.

They prattled aimlessly for a while, as two friends do when they meet after a long time apart, and then it was time for dinner. A delicious meal of grilled chicken sandwiches, salad, and fresh fruit was served, compliments to Mrs. Weasley. After dinner was cake—there were three: a stag, a horse, and an otter; she really outdid herself this year.

"Oh Ginny, are you Quidditch captain?" Alicia asked smiling, as if she already knew the answer.

Ginny shook her head. "I guess that job wasn't for me."

"You're kidding, right?" Angelina asked between bites of the otter-shaped cake. "McGonagall's insane if she didn't choose you. You know how much she likes he Quidditch too."

"Uh, Angelina?" Ginny said gesturing behind Angelina to where McGonagall was standing tensely.

"Why didn't you choose Ginny as Gryffindor team Quidditch captain?" Angelina asked furiously. Ginny had to admire the girl's spirit.

McGonagall looked at her for a moment and then cried, "I knew I forgot something! I knew there was something missing when I sent out the letters! I am going to make such a horrible headmistress!"

Ginny almost laughed at how childish McGonagall was being, but it made sense. As a first-time headmistress, it would be difficult to live up to the high expectations set by Dumbledore.

"It's okay, Professor; everyone makes mistakes," said Katie Bell kindly. "You can just tell Ginny that she's Quidditch captain right now."

"Will you be?" McGonagall asked, somewhat pitifully.

"Of course, Professor," Ginny said smiling grandly; she couldn't wait to tell Harry the good news.

After a healthful round of drinks, most of the guests went home. Darkness had come, and only a few faithful partygoers were left: Bill and Fleur, the Grangers, Kingsley, and McGonagall.

"So I hear you are going to be speaking at the trial of Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco Malfoy in two days?" Kinglsey asked in his deep commanding voice.

"Yes," Harry said calmly. Ginny tensed up next to Harry.

"Just some advice," Kingsley said. "I've met the Malfoys, and I don't know what they did to convince you otherwise, but they haven't changed."

"I have to disagree, Kingsley," Harry said politely. "But I can't say why. Now's not the time."

Kingsley nodded. "Well I must be going."

"Me too," McGonagall said, gathering her things.

"Come with me?" Ginny asked, grabbing Harry's hand and squeezing it once. The two slipped silently from the scene.

Ginny led Harry quietly across the backyard and particularly good tree for climbing, one of her favorites actually. She slid her shoes off and started climbing the tree barefooted. Her dress flapped in all directions. She reached a solid branch and gestured for him to come up. Harry's climb wasn't nearly as fast or as graceful as Ginny's but he made it up eventually and plopped down on the same branch as Ginny. The leaves of the tree provided excellent privacy from any onlookers.

Ginny leaned her head into Harry's shoulder, and Harry placed his arm around her. She scooted closer. Using her feet, which were calloused and rough from her many childhood days spent climbing trees without shoes on, she knocked Harry's socks off—literally. If someone were to look at the tree, they would only see two sets of pale legs hanging down from a mass of leaves.

They sat on the branch of the tree for a while. Ginny swung her legs back and forth. Finally, she leaned over and kissed Harry tenderly. Harry returned to kiss, but it was short-lived.

"I know you agree with me about the Malfoys but—"

Ginny cut him off with another quick kiss. "We might not agree, but I'm still going with you, Harry."

"Why though?" Harry asked breaking himself away from her again.

"Because, Harry, I love you, and I want the best for you no matter what," Ginny said again.

"I want the best for you too, Ginny," Harry said. "And you clearly don't want to be there, so you aren't going."

"Yes, I am," Ginny said. "I won't go in the courtroom, but I want to be there… and you'd better agree with me now because I can fight with you forever."

"Fine," I guess you can come. Harry said as he finally returned her kiss amorously.

* * *

A/N: Writing this chapter reminded me how much I hate the word tenderly in regards to people. It reminds me too much of well-cooked meat. Oh well, I still used it. This chapter is pretty long, and the next chapter is really important to the story so I hope you keep reading! I know a lot of people on't like him, but I personally can't wait for Percy to get back from Azkaban. If you would pretty please leave a review, then you would make my day. If not, well it's cool.

* * *

**Sammie**


	9. It'll Only Get Tougher

**Chapter Nine  
****It'll Only Get Tougher**

"You're certain you want to do this?" asked Harry for about the millionth time. His face was teeming with concern, and he looked quite ill.

Ginny smoothed down the front of her robes and said, "Yes, Harry! We've gone over this a million times before. Besides, we're already at the ministry. I can't back out now."

"Well you don't have to come—hey!"

Ginny pushed Harry's shoulder fiercely, spinning him around. "I think you need more convincing than I do," she urged. "Come on. Let's go. Everyone already knows you'll do brilliantly. She led him into the red booth that was the visitors' entrance to the London Ministry of Magic.

"Uh, what's the number?" Ginny asked staring at the Muggle contraption known as the telephone.

"It's 'magic,' er," he adjusted his glasses and stared at the small letters next to the numbers on the phone. "6…2…4…4…2."

Ginny punched in the number, maybe harder than was necessary, and the stiff female voice started talking. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and objective."

"Erm, Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. We're here for the Malfoys' trial."

Minutes later they were waiting casually in the lift that would carry them to the courtroom in which the Malfoys' trial was being held. Ginny swatted a paper airplane from her head, and her stomach gave an uneasy quench as the lift started to move. Of all the things in the world to be afraid of—werewolves, the Cruciatus curse, Crumple-horned Snorkacks—her worst fear just _had _to be lifts. The small cramped box of doom lurched to a stop, and Ginny let out a yelp and clutched Harry's arm. Harry looked quite amused.

"Level seven: Department of Magical Games and Sports," a bland female voice said from out of sight. A half-dozen airplane-shaped memos flew into the lift and hovered near the ceiling. Ginny stared at them intently wondering if their added weight would snap the belts of the elevator. The metal grilles of the elevator began to close.

"Wait a moment!" A dark calloused hand reached out and pulled the lift's doors open again. Ginny looked up from where she had been admiring her feet to see Gwenog Jones, captain of the all-girls Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny gave a nervous half-smile which the Quidditch captain returned. "You're Ginny Weasley, right?"

Ginny widened her eyes and nodded.

Gwenog smiled understandingly. "Nice to meet you." She extended her hand, which Ginny shook firmly—a quality her dad had always told her was a nice one to have. "I've been watching you play for a while now. You're really good."

Again, Ginny was speechless. She suddenly felt shy and timid while standing next to one of the people she had admired for a good part of her childhood. _Don't be shy, _she told herself, remembering the ages of about ten to twelve, when she had swooned at the sight of the famous Boy-Who-Lived. "Nice to meet you too," said Ginny. "But I'm not that great. Not as good as you anyway."

"Oh don't say that!" the woman said batting a paper memo from her head. Standing upright, she was a whole head taller than Ginny, not that Ginny was all that tall to begin with. "With a little brushing up and a strict practice regimen, you'd be a fantastic player…Speaking of which, I've been in need of a new alternate ever since Greene went and got herself that baby," Gwenog finished in a mutter.

Ginny laughed appropriately. It was a well-known fact that Jones was an avid feminist and, despite having a husband of her own, disapproved of any of her payers going off and getting 'knocked-up' by the 'male species.'

Gwenog got off the lift at the next stop. Harry and Ginny continued their dangerous journey in the small lift until they reached the ninth floor. That was when Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the lift.

"Potter, Weasley," the minister of magic said nodding to the two of them.

"Minister," both Ginny and Harry said nodding back at him. Kingsley scratched the tip of his nose, but Ginny saw the smile that played across his lips, amused at being called Minister.

"Here, Potter," Kingsley said digging in his robes for something. He drew out two fat envelopes with the ministry's seal stamped on them in navy blue ink. "One's for Ron."

"Of course," Harry said, already aware that these letters would be about the Auror training program he and Ron would be enlisted in on September first.

"Level ten," the voice said.

"That's us," Ginny said getting off of the lift as fast as she could. Harry followed suit, and Kingsley stepped farther into the box. They stepped out into a carpeted corridor of the ministry. It was one of the less-travelled roads at the ministry, empty except for a few glowing lamps and wooden doors. "We've still got a few minutes before the trial starts."

"So if you're so afraid of lifts, what does your boggart turn in to?" Harry asked in a low voice, piddling around the narrow hall.

Ginny sighed, but she smiled. "A big black box," she joked. "But when I say Riddikulus, it changes into a giant can of worms." Honestly she wasn't sure what her boggart woudl turn in to anymore.

Harry laughed slightly.

"Nervous?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. He looked it. He was as white as a ghost, and a cold sweat had broken on his forehead. Funny how that worked: Harry could be the bravest person in the world when he wanted, but stick him in front of a group of people and make him talk, and he turned to jelly. "I'm still not certain what I'm going to say."

"Start with the truth," Ginny said. It was something her mother had always told her, but she had rarely listened because, no, she had not nicked Percy's pewter-tipped quill set. "It'll come out eventually."

"Thanks," Harry said, coloring just a bit. "I love you."

"Now's not the time for romance, Harry," Ginny said groaning inwardly. For someone who could be so sweet at times, he was really awful at being romantic. "And I have to go to the loo. Will you wait for me?"

Harry nodded as Ginny walked off in search of a bathroom.

* * *

The second Ginny rounded the corner the nerves began to set in. Harry reminded himself to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth, a trick that rarely seemed to actually work. He knew that he owed it to the Malfoys to tell the truth, but he had no idea of how to go about this. He hadn't spoken to Narcissa since they had met each other in Diagon Alley.

He was saved the trouble of having too much time on his hands to worry, when a small bell rang and the doors of the lift at the end of the hall opened. Harry whipped his head around and nearly fainted when he saw the Malfoys step out of it. It wasn't that he was necessarily surprised to see them. Of course they were coming. It was their trial. If they didn't come that would be a bigger problem. It was just, well, as it turned out Harry was surprised to see them. A kind of subtle surprise that comes when you're not ready to face what's right in front of you.

The Malfoys stepped out of the lift and Harry stood in the middle of the hall staring at his feet, then the wall, then the lights, then his feet again. He was trying desperately hard not to look at the Malfoys. But with every step they took toward him, he was running out of time.

"Draco why don't you and your father talk a walk around the corridor for a moment? To work off your nerves," Narcissa asked commandingly. Draco shrugged and walked with his equally silent father down the corridor. Whereas Draco looked nervous and jittery, Lucius looked emotionless, as if the task at hand was no skin off of his back even though he was most likely going to Azkaban. When the last of their coattails disappeared from sight around the corner, Harry looked up at Narcissa.

Today she wore an entirely different façade than when they had last met, in Diagon Alley. She was standing at her full height—she was actually quite a tall woman—and she carried herself astutely and austerely. The only traces of worry that Harry could detect from looking at her were in her eyes.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, attempting his best to be nervously cordial.

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa returned in equal stoniness. She lowered her hands to her side and took up a seat on a dark, wooden bench between two pillars in the wall. That left Harry to stand awkwardly in the middle of the red-carpeted corridor. Narcissa pulled the skirt of her long purple dress out from underneath her and propped herself against the wall with in a very severely straight posture.

Harry resumed the task of looking at everything in the plain old corridor except her. The lights, the light fixtures, the ornate carvings of famous witches and wizards on the light fixtures, the expressions that the little witches and wizards on the light fixtures were wearing, the—he finally caved and decided to admire a tapestry.

When he ran out of things to look at, he slowly turned to face Mrs. Malfoy. She looked as severe as ever but with a slight twist: she was shaking. The kind of deep chest shakes that you make when sobbing extremely hard, except that Narcissa wasn't crying, and her face certainly wasn't moving, and she wasn't making any noise at all. Harry gazed perplexedly at the bizarre scene that was in front of him.

"Mrs. Malfoy?" he asked, and she wiped her face with a handkerchief, even though there were no tears to wipe from it. Harry had never been good at the whole comforting thing; Ginny would attest to that.

* * *

Ginny finally pulled her hands out from the water of the running sink. She shook them lightly over the sink and patted them lightly on a towel, which re-fluffed itself after she was finished. She made sure her foot touched every tile in the bathroom on her way out; she was stalling.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Harry or understand him. She understood perfectly well that Narcissa had saved his life. She understood that Harry would most likely feel eternally indebted to her and to the rest of the Malfoys. Ginny understood that Harry wouldn't be lying in that courtroom today; he would be telling the absolute truth. Ginny understood all of that, but she wouldn't ever forget that the Malfoys were evil people. She couldn't forget that they were responsible for the deaths of many innocent people including Albus Dumbledore. She couldn't forget that they had given her the diary that had possessed her and almost killed her. She still had nightmares about that diary, the little leather-bound book. She hadn't kept a diary since Riddle's.

She doubted the Malfoys felt any guilt for what they did. She doubted she would feel any guilt if she was responsible for one of their deaths. In fact, she _knew_ she wouldn't feel guilt because she had come within seconds of killing Narcissa's sister. On the night of the battle, when she still thought Harry was dead, when she was dueling Bellatrix Lestrange, Ginny had been fully prepared to demolish the witch's life. Time had been moving in slow motion. The words had danced across her lips as she brought her wand slashing down pointed straight at Bellatrix's heart. Harry was right: you really did have to mean it when you performed these curses. And she did. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than for Bellatrix to be dead, for the whole lot of Death Eaters to be dead. But at that moment her mother had other plans. She knocked Ginny out of the way screaming something Ginny couldn't comprehend. And the moment passed. The jet of green light ricocheted off of a gargoyle and into the high ceiling of the Great Hall.

Ginny hadn't felt guilt at that. If she had to, she would do it again in a heartbeat. The only guilt she felt in this scenario was the guilt of not feeling guilt. Bellatrix deserved the ending she got, right? She wondered if her mum ever felt guilty for taking another person's life.

So while Ginny didn't trust the Malfoys, and she didn't agree with Harry, she still came to support him. That was what a girlfriend was for, right? It was hard to not agree with Harry for once. There were very few times in a typical day that they did disagree. Loving got a lot harder when you didn't agree with someone, but c'est la vie. Ginny shoved open the bathroom door and exited quietly.

"I told you, Draco!" Ginny heard Lucius Malfoy say in a sharp whisper. Ginny froze and leaned against the wall, careful not to make any noise. "You are a coward. And until you face what's staring you straight in the face, you aren't going to get anywhere in life. I know Narcissa seems to think we've joined Harry Potter and everything is sunshine and daisies, but it's not! It never ends. It's never over. And you can run, and you can hide, but eventually they'll catch up to you. You're a coward, Draco!"

Ginny stood in shock at what she was hearing. What was Lucius Malfoy talking about? Who was out to get the Malfoy's? Why would a father call his own son a coward? Questions sprang to her head as she tried to think of plausible answers to them, but there was something awfully stinging about Lucius's words.

"Just leave me alone, Dad!" Malfoy shouted back. Hurt and fear diluted the power in his voice. Instead of standing up to his father, it sounded more like he was whining. "Mum doesn't want _you_ anymore! She has other ways of getting what she wants!"

"Other ways?" Lucius asked, taken aback. "Who?"

"Just leave me alone!" Draco cried pitifully. By the time Ginny heard his footfalls coming toward her it was too late. The grey boy rounded the corner and ran into her with surprising force, pushing her onto her bottom and knocking the wind right out of her lungs.

As she clutched at her chest, trying to regain her breath, Draco looked down at her. His hurt gaze turned instantly suspicious. "Weasley? What are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

"Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asked again, taking a step toward her. "Er, it's okay?"

"No, it's not!" Narcissa cried roughly. Harry sidled backwards a step, not wanting to upset the woman. "I've failed haven't I?" Narcissa asked. "I have failed at raising my only child. I have failed at my marriage. My husband thinks more highly of his drinking than he does of me."

"No, that's not true," Harry told her, feeling his cheeks burn hotly. He looked up at her, but he avoided making eye contact. Harry was starting to regret coming. "Maybe I should just—"

"No, stay!" Narcissa heaved, clutching at the air in front of her like she couldn't quite reach Harry even though he was only a couple of feet away. "Please!"

Harry tried to buck up some courage and talk to her, but this was a scenario he had never ever imagined himself getting in. "You haven't failed Mrs. Malfoy. They're just in a rough place right now. I'm sure that once things settle down and get back to normal everything will be fine. Your love for your husband, and for Draco, will get you through this. They'll see it eventually."

Narcissa pulled at her hair, which was intricately woven into a tight bun at the back of her head. When she tugged, a few loose curls fell free and framed her face and her eyes: unlike Draco's and Lucius's grey ones, Narcissa's eyes were the color the color of midnight, cloudy and impenetrable but also deep and desiring. The rest of the bun slopped across her back loosely. Somehow the small action, removing the tightness and austerity from her hairstyle, made her look different, more benign.

"You know," she began stonily, as her shakes slowly subsided. She clasped her hands in her lap, and fumbled for a moment with her wedding ring. "Nothing about Lucius and me was ever normal…"

Harry remained quiet, wondering what Narcissa was possibly going to say next.

"It was an arrangement, our marriage," Narcissa said, looking sourly at her lap. "Bella married Rodolphus, and our parents were very pleased her. Then Andy ran off with that _Muggle-born _Ted, and that's when things went awry."

Harry was surprised that the woman could sill have so much contempt toward a member of her own family, especially one that was and would never be around to defend himself. Harry wondered if Narcissa had ever even taken the time to get to know her brother-in-law.

"Daddy didn't want another incident like _her, _so he arranged a marriage for his youngest little pure-blood princess. Lucius happened to be the highest bidder," Narcissa said tartly. Harry could hardly believe it. He'd always believed that Narcissa was just as screwed up as her husband. He'd always thought that Draco was the one thing that kept her grounded while dealing with the Death Eaters. Perhaps that was true, but things weren't as simple as they had previously seemed.

"Do you love him?" Harry asked eventually.

Narcissa waited a while before saying, "I–I grew to become very fond of Lucius…It was a neutral marriage, neither good nor bad. I think Draco kept us together all these years. I love him more than anything else in the world. I wanted the best for him. But Lucius…Lucius has other plans. Sons always listen to their fathers, right? I'm just afraid it may be too late."

Harry stared with concern at her, as a single tear grazed the curve of her slender cheek. "I don't think that's true."

* * *

"Seven years seems a little light if you ask me," Mrs. Weasley said, fanning her face as she stuck it in the heat of the oven. She pulled out a large roast. "Lucius was one of Voldemort's wing men if you don't remember. What about the others?"

"Draco has to complete another year at Hogwarts. Then he has a nine-month sentence in Azkaban—mainly because of the attempted murder of Dumbledore. Narcissa got off scotch free," Harry relayed.

"Why?" Mr. Weasley asked. "It just seems odd, you know. Wasn't she a known Death Eater too?"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't yet told anyone but Ginny and the court today about Narcissa's gift. How she saved his life. He was sure it would be all over the papers tomorrow, but for now wasn't ready to face telling them. Ginny slid silently into the spot next to him. He felt her hand slid into his under the table, and a shot of goose bumps crept up his arm.

They quickly dropped the subject after they detected Harry's discomfort. It was a touchy subject, and both sides of the argument were very grey. It would be of no use to disagree on something that was already decided. They were saved the trouble of filling an awkward gap when a small tap sounded on the front door.

"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley screeched, bustling like lightning to open the door. As soon as he limped tiredly through the door, Mrs. Weasley attacked him in a massive bear hug. She was crying, but unlike the other times she had cried as of late, this time it was tears of joy. "Don't you _ever _scare me like that again! Do you hear, Percy? If you leave me ever again, I swear I am going to murder you!"

"Glad to see you too, Mum," Percy said weakly, he was crying as well. They were crying because they were glad to see each other, sure, but Harry suspected they were also making unsaid amends. Percy had been gone for a great many years before he came back to her.

When Mrs. Weasley finally broke away, Harry seized the opportunity to take a good look at the bloke. He was definitely worse for wear: his shirt was dirty and haggard, his glasses needed mending, and the bags under his eyes were very pronounced. As the rest of the Weasleys fawned over Percy's return, Harry took a step back. He noticed Percy had a limp: he was babying his right foot. There were scratches across his forearm that were fresh and bruises that had not been there before. Whatever had gone down in Azkaban had been awful.

When Percy finally had a moment to sit down with a mug of Butterbeer, he told everyone what he had very obviously been itching to say since he'd arrived.

"The wizards we were meant to retrieve at Azkaban, for false charges, they're all gone. Not a trace of any of them," he said somberly.

Gasps of "What?" and "How?" were all that the Weasleys could muster. Harry felt a wave of unpleasantness crash into him.

"All gone," Percy repeated, raising the mug to his lips and drawing a long sip. "We spent the past month combing the island for them, but they're not there. The dementors have started to get angry. So many fresh souls just disappeared. They've started feasting on the other innocent people. We had to get out of there. We still don't know where the wizards are."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Things weren't adding up. Sure, some mysterious things were bound to happen. After all, the ministry had just gotten back up on its feet after it had been beaten to the ground for so many years. But something as huge as a mass breakout of all the innocent people locked up in the wizard jail, it just didn't make sense.

"Who? How many?" Harry asked.

"There were about a hundred empty cells. No signs of struggle or anything. All of them were on a list of people we were supposed break out," Percy said wearily. "Other than that, we don't know much. The real criminals in the jail weren't going to give out answers for free. If it's all right, Mum, I think I'll head off for a shower and then bed. I'm awfully—" The rest of his sentence was drowned out in a loud, resonant yawn.

"Of course, love," Mrs. Weasley said smiling. "Do you think you'd like to come see Ginny and Hermione off at Platform 9¾ tomorrow? It's their last year…" her voice trailed off drowsily and somewhat wistfully.

"Yeah, I think I can do that."

Percy slumped up the stairs slowly, and Harry tried to think of a possible reason for the breakout even though he knew he wouldn't find one. His heart beat with a kind of nervous jitter, something that never happened unless something unusual was going on.

* * *

Ginny never imagined her bedcovers could feel so good. It felt like an eternity since she had awoken to accompany Harry to the Ministry this morning. She knew she wouldn't sleep tonight. There was no way. Too much excitement and worry surrounded the following morning that she would do well to even close her eyes tonight. Hermione had not yet turned in for the night. From under the covers, Ginny looked out at the silhouettes of the apple trees in the backyard, smiling at her through the dark night.

Moments later, the door opened and in walked Mrs. Weasley. It was a tradition of hers to give Ginny some sort of talk before she left for Hogwarts. First year it had been about how important school was, third year it was about _not_ following in the twins' footsteps, fourth year it had been 'the talk,' and Ginny wondered what it would possibly be tonight.

Her mum propped herself in the edge of the bed near Ginny's midsection and gently wound her fingers through her daughter's hair, massaging the top of her head. They sat in this position while the time passed, slowly but not monotonously. It was comforting, to just spend time with her mother, not worrying about anything. Ginny hadn't had the opportunity to "just spend time with her mother" for years—ever since she'd went off to Hogwarts and became a dreaded _teenager. _And indeed, it made her feel like a little kid again, in a good way.

But there was one question burning in her head that she had to ask. She shifted herself to a sitting position and looked at her mum's eyes. Ginny, Molly, and Charlie were the only three in the family with brown eyes; the rest had gotten their dad's blue eyes.

"Mum, when you, er, was, er, did you feel guilty for killing Bellatrix?" Ginny asked. Molly's face was blank, unrevealing. She didn't speak for a long time. "I can't imagine what you all must think of me," she admitted hanging her head.

"Oh no, Mum!" Ginny said reaching out and grabbing her mother's arm. She had never seen her mum be so unconfident and insecure before; it was a bit unnerving. "You're the coolest mum in the whole wide world. You saved our lives from that evil bi—"

"Language," Molly said smiling a bit. No matter what was going on, Mrs. Weasley would never fail to reprimand one of her children for their language. "I know I did, and I would do it again if the situation ever arose. But I still can't stop thinking that, that I'm a murderer."

"No you're not!" Ginny said, leaning towards her mum to give her a hug. "No one thinks any less of you. In fact, we all think you're even greater for doing what you did!"

Molly seemed a bit comforted by her daughter's words. "Why did you ask?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to be uncomfortable. She leaned back against the wall behind her bed and closed her eyes. "Because…when you came…and you pushed me out of the way…I was about to kill her, Lestrange."

"I see," Mrs. Weasley said neutrally.

"I even said the curse and everything. And I don't. I don't feel guilty for saying it at all. She deserved that and much, much worse," Ginny said. "I was feeling guilty today, for…not feeling guilt. I want them all dead, Mum. I don't want to have to deal with them anymore. I want all the Malfoys gone!" Ginny said. She arched her body forward and buried her face in the sheets in front of her. "And I know Harry doesn't agree with me. He thinks they've changed. But I think he's misguided. I don't know what to do. I think it might make us grow farther apart. I don't want that to happen."

Ginny fully expected her mum to shout at her for saying that she wanted the Malfoys dead. But the woman of forty-eight years merely adjusted the weight on her hands and said, "If that's really how you feel, you'd better tell Harry, and fast. It might be hard, but you'll feel better afterwards. And don't worry, he won't hate you. If anything, he'll care for you more for having the guts to tell him that. Just do it soon before you've missed your window."

"Thanks," Ginny whispered to her mum. "I love you." She lay down on her bed and pulled her covers up to her chin. She stared at her mum as the woman got up from the bed, gave her a kiss on the forehead, made her way to the door, turned off the light, and attempted to close the door but couldn't because of its crooked jamb.

She immediately drifted off into an uneasy sleep. She was awoken seconds later by the clatter of someone trying to get in her room, probably Hermione. Too tired to get up and get the door herself, she waited for the unknown visitor to eventually get in. He did, and he wasn't Hermione.

Ginny's big eyes followed Harry about the room as he made his way toward her bed and sat down on the end of it. Ginny sat up again, and pointed her wand at the door and then the light. The door swept silently closed, and the light turned on slightly, casting a dim glow over the room. Harry yawned and turned toward Ginny.

"I think your parents built this house slightly crookedly merely so that I would have a hard time sneaking into your room without getting caught," he mumbled quietly. "I think they thought I was Hermione though. Hopefully."

Ginny smiled and was instantly awake. She hoped that the topic of the Malfoys wouldn't come up soon. She only wanted to spend time with Harry. She had a feeling that spare time, between his Auror career and her final year of school, was going to be few and far between, so she wanted to make these precious few moments last. Right now, merely being in each other's presence, alone, was enough. They didn't need to talk or kiss or anything. They only needed to be with each other.

"Harry?" she said pulling him closer toward her. He followed obligingly.

"I just wanted you to know that…I don't agree with you about the Malfoys. I think you're being a little bit of a prat—just a little!" she exclaimed quietly, seeing the look on his face. "And I wanted you do know that I'm not going to let that make or break our relationship." She inched her fingers toward his hand, which lay limply on the bedcovers, and held it tightly."

"I know," Harry whispered. They sat that way for a long time, until the pitch black of the night made it impossible to see even their fingers.

"Will you still love me even though we'll be oceans apart?" Ginny asked.

"Of course," Harry said. "I'll love you forever."

"I'll love you forever too," Ginny replied.

Ginny grabbed her wand, turned off the light, and was submerged in darkness with Harry. She stretched her legs out wrapped her arms around the pillow. Half an hour later, she felt Harry's head fall down next to hers. His fingers slid into hers like to pieces of a puzzle. His body felt warm against hers. They stayed like that all night. Hermione never did manage to make it back to Ginny's room.

* * *

A/N: Well I haven't talked to you guys in a while. :( I've missed you. Don't worry I'll be updating sooner now that school is out! But between Mother's Day weekend—Happy Mother's Day by the way if you're a mom, First Communions, a second grade campout held in my backyard, and final exams among other things, I just haven't had a spare moment to write. Maybe you could try splitting it up? Pace yourself! I actually don't know if you all like long chapters or not? I had the idea to have Ginny be visited by everyone on her last night before her last year of school, but that would make this chapter way too long. I know, another long chapter might kill you. Maybe I'll write it some other time, but it just doesn't fit into this story right now. Remember, getting a review is like eating a cookie: not necessary but highly recommended. Pretty please with a cherry on top? (I'm sound like a first grader.) Thanks, bye!

P.S. I hope there aren't too many grammar errors. Awkward story, our English teacher is obsessed with grammar—she'll probably name her first kid Comma that's how much. Anyways, she made us personalized finals for her class, and they all had different grammar mistakes on them that we had made on papers and assignments, and we were supposed to correct them. :/ Too much time on her hands… Of course I'm the one that spends my free time writing fanfictions.

* * *

**Sammie**


	10. Across the Pond

**Chapter Ten  
****Across the Pond**

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Mrs. Weasley's voice carried throughout the entire house, waking anyone who wasn't already awake. Ginny moped around on her bed, not really awake but not asleep either. She loved it when Ron got in trouble, especially by their mum. She wondered what it was this time. "I THOUGHT WE SAID NO GIRLS IN YOUR BEDROOM UNLESS THEY WERE MARRIED TO YOU!"

Ron shouted something smart like, "Well you're a girl!" which really got Molly going.

"YOU BET I'M GOING TO HAVE A COW OVER THIS, MISTER! I'M GOING TO HAVE THE WHOLE DAMN FARM, RONALD!" she cried. After catching her breath for a few seconds she continued, "WHERE THE HECK DID HARRY SLEEP LAST NIGHT?"

Ginny smiled to herself at Ron's expense, but suddenly her blood ran cold. She froze and turned slowly over in her bed.

"Shit," muttered Harry as he pulled his arm from where Ginny was laying on it, leaped from the bed, shoved his glasses on his face upside-down, and made his way to the door. The footsteps of half a dozen Weasleys could already be heard tromping down the stairs from the attic. Apparently the entire family had gone to wake up Ron and Hermione.

The sticky jamb hindered his progress, and he was only halfway down the hall before the rest of the family caught up to him. He had removed his glasses and was pretending to wipe them on his shirt when they saw him.

Ginny leaped to the door and opened it. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to act like she had no idea what the ruckus was about. Honestly, she was pretty darn good at lying when she was serious about it. That could either be a good thing or a bad thing, but for now, it was excellent.

"Harry?" Arthur said not bothering to hide the hint of suspiciousness in his voice. He was the first one down the steps with Molly, Ron, Hermione and the rest of the lot on their heels. "What are you doing down here?"

Harry continued wiping his glasses on the shirt that he had worn last night, while the rest of them stared at him incredulously. Ginny had never known Harry to lie, but suspected he might be apt at it with his 'Auror instincts' and what have you.

Mr. Weasley was slowly turning redder. By the time Harry got around to putting his glasses back on, he was looking very angry indeed—a feat that didn't happen often and could be quite nerve-wracking.

"Oh, hello," Harry said innocently enough. "I was just headed upstairs now. Apparently you got there first."

"You bet we did!" Molly exclaimed shrilly. "Where did _you _sleep last night, Harry?" She glared at Ginny who tried not to look guilty.

"I was just seeing what all the fuss was about!" Ginny exclaimed. "He wasn't in _here _if that's what you're implying. Harry and I would never…" She stared at Ron and Hermione who looked both utterly embarrassed and a bit tickled.

"You'd better not!" Percy said staring at Harry menacingly. Ginny rolled her eyes. Percy was really laying it on thick, trying to get on their mum's good side.

"Shut up, Perce," Ginny said opening her door a bit wider, leaning against its frame, and crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, he has a point," Molly said. "Where did you say you were sleeping last night, Harry?"

"On the couch in the living room," Harry said quickly but not too quickly. "I didn't want to disrupt Ron and Hermione's er…slumber party?"

After clearing up a few more of the details of the previous night, Harry thoughtfully steered very clear of Mrs. Weasley for the rest of the morning, and Hermione returned to Ginny's room somewhat embarrassed. Being the amazing best friend Ginny was, she hounded Hermione with questions the second she entered the room.

"So did you?" Ginny asked, as Hermione searched around the room for the few last items she needed to pack.

Hermione shook her head. "No, nothing like that. We just wanted to be together before I leave for school. Er, we may have kissed once or twice though…" She folded a shirt and placed it carefully in her trunk. Ginny tried not to imagine her best friend making out with her brother, but the images flooded into her head anyway. "I'm guessing Harry didn't sleep on the couch?"

"Well there is an art to not getting caught, Hermione," Ginny pointed out coyly. "I know Ron is a little dull when it comes to these things, but I was certain you would…Of all us to get caught sharing a room, I'd have never expected it'd be you and Ron." Ginny smirked. Hermione turned bright red. "By golly even Percy managed to sneak Heather up to his room once this summer and didn't get caught."

"That's that girl he's been dating, right?" Hermione asked. "She slept over?"

"Well yeah. You probably didn't notice because he didn't get caught," Ginny pointed out.

"Oh, this is so humiliating!" Hermione cried using a piece of her bushy hair to cover her red face.

The rest of the morning passed in a normal amount of chaos for a first day of school slash first day of Auror training kind of day. The only spanner thrown in their plans was the fact that Andromeda had come down with a terrible case of the flu—one of the only Muggle illnesses that could not be cured with magic—and she had asked if Harry could care for Teddy for a few days while she recovered. Teddy arrived at around ten o'clock right as the Weasleys were heading out to send their last child off to her last year of school.

Even with the magical expansion charms placed on the two ministry cars that were driving them to King's Cross, the ride was cramped what with all nine Weasleys, Fleur, Hermione, Harry, Teddy, all of their pets, and Percy's new girlfriend. Apparently he had dumped Heather. He had started dating Janie on the trip to Azkaban—how romantic. Ginny supposed Janie seemed nice, but she also wondered how long the new girl would last, for she was definitely not Weasley material.

They drove into Platform nine and three quarters with twenty minutes to spare, a new personal record. The platform was already packed with students, but no sign of the Hogwarts Express yet. Of course there wasn't a Hogwarts Express: trains couldn't go across oceans! Ginny wondered how they would be getting to the new school, er, Abbey Alver.

"This is the last time we'll be here for a long time!" Mrs. Weasley said, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief. "It's a shame that I have seven kids and only four of them have graduated," she said taking a moment to glare pointedly at Ron and George. "It's not too late Ron."

"It kind of is," Ron said. "You see Harry's and my Auror training starts tomrrow, and I already told Kingsley I'd be there."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said admirably. "Good luck."

Ron started to walk off to give Hermione a more 'special' goodbye, but Molly stopped them. "Stay within a hundred feet of us, you two." Clearly she had not forgotten the morning's extravaganza. Ron muttered something and walked away with Hermione holding his hand.

"Gin," Bill said putting his hand on her shoulder. "Good luck. I hope you like America, but not too much okay. I'm not letting you move there."

"Thanks, Bill," she said hugging her older brother.

"And good luck with Quidditch, I'm sure your team will win with you as captain," Charlie said.

Ginny gave Charlie a hug. "Thanks, Charlie."

"And don't let your last year in school discourage you from doing your best schoolwork," Percy advised.

"Thanks, Perce," Ginny said, even feeling good enough to give him a hug.

"And if you _do _feel like the schoolwork is too tough—which is inevitable—here are some Fever Fudges," George said.

"Thanks, George," Ginny smiled, squeezing him tightly and taking the small box of candies from him. She shoved it into her bag.

"And remember," Ron said, returning to the group. "You can walk two moons, but always come home."

And Ginny hugged him hardest of all because, despite the beliefs of all of his brothers and sometimes even Ginny herself, he didn't _always_ get it wrong. And for that, she would miss him the most this year.

"Thank you, Ron," she said burying her head in his shoulder. He started to let go, but she held him tighter. "I'm not ready to let go yet . . . By the way, the Sharon Creech was a nice touch. I didn't know you could read." She could feel Ron's scratchy cheek stretch in the shape of a smile.

Later, after a tearful goodbye from her parents who claimed that they were crying because they were glad she'd finally be gone, Harry pulled Ginny aside on the corner of the platform.

"Where's Teddy?" Ginny asked.

"With your Mum," Harry said. He reached in his cloak and pulled out a small, rectangular package wrapped in green paper with gold reindeer dancing across it..

"Open it when you get to school," Harry said quickly. "And don't worry, it's not going to kill you or possess you or anything like that."

"Oh, Harry, you didn't have to get me anything," Ginny said softly, wondering what was in the package.

"It's no big deal," Harry shrugged.

"Yes it is," Ginny said, looking again at the package. "You really didn't have to get me anything."

"It's not even worth a thank you really," Harry said. "Honestly. Like I said, I've never had anyone to spoil bef—"

Ginny wrapped her hands around Harry and kissed him. She felt his hands make their way through her hair and hold her back. She hugged him closer and closer, wanting to hold every inch of him forever. They were finally broken apart by screams of "Wow!" and "Oh!"

"You'd better go see what all the fuss is about," Harry said hugging her tightly for one more second. "I really will miss you."

"You'll visit right?" Ginny said. "For free weekends and Quidditch games and don't forget that floo powder I got you."

"Yeah, I'll visit," said Harry, letting go of her hand as she started to walk away, disappearing in the crowd of students and luggage.

"And Harry?" Ginny asked, she could barely see him as the crowds of people started to close in on her. She raised her voice, "That present really was a big deal!"

Harry waved one last time as Ginny turned her back and fought her way through the crowds of people.

When she finally returned to her family, she was amazed at what she saw on the tracks before her. She'd expected something along the lines of the carriage that had brought Beauxbatons students to Hogwarts four years ago. What she saw were flying cars, about a hundred of them, lined up on the tracks. There were wizards manning each car, "No more'n five to a car, please, and stay orderly!"

"Hermione!" Ginny said, grabbing the girl's wrist as they made their way to a car. "Where's Luna?"

"I'm right here, Ginny," said the familiar dreamy voice from inside of a bright yellow car. She poked the top of her head out and her bright clear eyes followed Ginny as she tried to locate each of her friends. Ginny wondered who would be coming back for their final year and who would be leaving school for good.

When Ginny finally stepped inside the yellow car, she was relieved to see six people she knew and got along well with. At least she wouldn't be spending the day flying across the ocean with a person like Draco Malfoy.

"How many?" the driver of their car asked, turning around in the front seat to look at them.

"Ginny makes three," Luna called cheerfully.

"All right, room for one more. Hey you!" the driver called to a person on the platform that was obscured by the side of the car. "You can ride in this car."

Seconds later, Dean Thomas crawled through the door of the car. He took one look at Ginny and looked like he was going to be sick. Ginny took back what she said about it not being an awful car ride. Spending the entire day in a small car with your ex-boyfriend was never not awkward.

Before she had time to say anything, the door was slammed shut and the cars started to move. First they rolled down the tracks following the blue car in front of them, and then they began to take flight across the London sky.

As soon as the ground became a patchwork of square buildings, roads, parks, and fields, Ginny turned her attention back to the inside of the car. Dean Thomas sat as far away from Ginny as humanly possible and buried his nose in a book. This seemed odd because in the entire six months she had dated him he had never once picked up a book or even expressed a remote interest in reading. Ginny wasn't going to let Dean Thomas get to her. She was with Harry now, and she loved him, and nothing was going to change that for her.

"How was your summer, Luna?" Ginny asked brightly. She had missed hanging out with her colorful friend whom she adored.

"All right," Luna said. "After all the funerals I mean. Daddy and I went on holiday in Finland. Crumple-horned Snorkacks love the frigid air."

"Oh really? Did you find anything?" Ginny asked. Hermione forced a smile to play across her lips. No matter how many times they fought about it, the two would never agree on the existence of Crumple-horned Snorkacks.

"Not much," Luna said, looking somewhat disappointed. "But we did stumble upon this." She pulled a large, dark green leafy contraption out of her bag.

Ginny looked at it, then looked at Luna, and then looked at Hermione who looked confused. "Sorry, Luna, but I have absolutely no idea what that is."

"It's a Molyroot," Luna beamed. "It is a rare delicacy of the Crumple-horned Snorkacks. They absolutely love to eat them. Finland was full of them."

"Oh! Of course," Ginny said, trying to sound genuinely interested in her friend's rather eccentric beliefs.

"Are you sure that's not just a leaf, Luna?" Hermione asked cautiously. Ginny knew that Hermione adored Luna, but Hermione had a tougher time believing in the unknown than Ginny did. That wasn't to say that Ginny was exactly confident that Crumple-horne Snorkacks were real.

Luna looked somewhat peeved, but quickly regained her delightful composure when Ginny changed the subject. The conversation stayed at a steadily quick pace for a few hours, as conversations between friends who have not seen each other for a very long time usually go. The most surprising thing that had happened yet was Crookshanks jumping on Luna and almost messing up her leaf—sorry, Molyroot.

Below, all Ginny could see was water: miles of it going in every direction. She decided she didn't like the flying car trip any more than she liked lift rides, and soon found herself concentrating on the far wall opposite the car.

Unfortunately sitting across from her, in the only available seat, was Dean Thomas. Ginny had to admit that she felt a little bit of pity for Dean. His best friend, Seamus Finnigan, had a witch for a mother, so he wouldn't be returning with Dean for his final year of education. Ginny was aware that going back for a seventh year was optional for students who were supposed to graduate last year, but it still had to be tough doing school without your best friend. Ginny wasn't sure if she would even come back were it not for Hermione and Luna…and her mother insisting education was the best thing for her.

"How was your summer, Dean?" Ginny asked, insisting to herself that she would be the bigger person.

"It was all right," Dean said neutrally, looking out the window. "It was better than running from Snatchers at any rate."

Ginny smiled. At least Dean didn't hate her. Revision—at least Dean didn't hate her to her face.

The rest of the car ride went by fairly easily. Dean seemed to loosen up a little and, while he still didn't look elated to be stuck with Ginny, there were few awkward pauses in their journey. It was a long car ride, but by the time the flying car started to decline in height, they were still talking amiably.

The chain of brightly colored cars descended onto a long stretch of highway, and it was only then that Ginny realized how fast they were travelling. She had only ridden the Knight Bus a few times in her life, and it reminded her of that except that the car they were driving in was going ten times faster than a normal car should go. Muggle cars adjacent to them whipped past. Ginny was nervous they were going to crash as the long string of Hogwarts cars wove with grace through the Muggle highway.

"_More than two thousand miles all the way. Get your kicks on route sixty-six_!" the driver sang some sort of tune back to them. "We'll be arriving at the school within the hour, so you should probably change into your robes."

They had a difficult time changing clothes because even though the car had an expansion charm on it so that the inside was larger than a normal car, it was still a pretty tight space, which made it pretty awkward.

They all stared awkwardly at each other until someone threw an orb of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in the center of the car. This would insure them at least five minutes of a heavy black fog lingering in the air. It also ensured that they couldn't see a thing, so they stumbled around in the darkness for a couple of minutes trying to find their bags and robes. Mutters of "Sorry," "Ow," and "Urgh!" were all that could be heard. Ginny coughed and tried to clear her head as different pieces of cloak wrapped around her and brushed by her.

"Sorry, Ginny! I didn't mean to hit you!" Luna called.

"It's fine!" Ginny called back. She didn't know why she was yelling; the darkness powder hadn't hindered her ability to hear.

Amidst the commotion and shouts, Ginny finally got her robes on and stumbled awkwardly back to her seat.

"Ahh!" someone yelled and fell, knocking her to the ground. She hit her head on the handle of the door on her way down. This caused the door of the car to swing open. Someone else screamed and slammed the door shut, banging her head again. The person who had fallen was on top of her still, stumbling to get up. Their arm was leaning sharply on the middle of her chest.

"Oww," Ginny moaned. She clutched at the back of her head and scrunched up her face to keep from crying. It was more the embarrassment of getting knocked over than the actual pain of it that was affecting her.

"Are you okay?" Dean Thomas's voice asked kindly. Ginny looked up. He was on all fours on top of her, looking very embarrassed himself. He removed his arm from her chest awkwardly. "So sorry."

"Perfect," Ginny said.

"Oh, right," Dean said. The last few wisps of darkness powder vanished into the air. Ginny looked around at Hermione and were staring back at her and Dean. Dean stumbled backward to his seat again. Ginny wished more than anything that he would have never came in their car in the first place.

They spun off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. Ginny spun her head around. She was positive a cloud of dust would have formed behind them, but the road looked as sedentary as ever. Magic was useful for keeping roads in pristine condition apparently.

They beat their way down the road, and Ginny began to wonder where the school was. The Hogwarts letter they had received a month ago hadn't explained much, and they hadn't gotten any news since. The car's passengers spent a good half hour trying to piece together the enigma that was Abbey Alver.

The car suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. Everyone inside of it was thrown forward, and Ginny was thankful she had remembered to fasten her seatbelt. Crookshanks was not so lucky. He was thrown across the car from his comfy resting place on Hermione's lap onto Dean.

"ARGWHHH!" Dean yelled trying forcefully to bat the cat away. Ginny couldn't help but laugh. It was a funny scene. "Geroff!" he yelled. Crookshanks tried unsuccessfully to get off of Dean. He only returned to Hermione when Dean gave him a particularly hard blow to his belly.

"Don't hit him!" Hermione cried reaching out to grab her fat orange tabby. "Dean didn't mean to hurt you, Crookshanks." Hermione petted the tetchy cat that was even more ticked after the incident.

"Allergic," Dean wheezed. He rubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his cloak. Already they were red and swollen. Ginny immediately felt horrible for laughing at him. "Sorry—" he coughed gruffly. "Sorry, Hermione."

Hermione looked concerned for Dean, but there was no time for apologies now. The driver had opened the door to the car, and they were already filing out of it. Ginny grabbed her bag and Crookshanks and clambered out of the car. She wondered why everything embarrassing and awkward on the ride over had happened to her and Dean. Maybe it was just a figment of her imagination.

She stepped out into the orangey sunlight, which hung low in the sky and would soon be setting.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," Ginny quoted holding up Crookshanks and looking across the vast expanse of flat fields that seemed to stretch on forever in every direction. She didn't see a castle and wondered where the school could possibly be.

"Actually," their driver heaved, pulling a heavy trunk out of the boot of the car. "We _are_ in Kansas. About fifty miles south of the geographical center of the United States."

"Oh," Ginny said. So that's where they were. Realizing that the driver was holding up her trunk and broomstick, she set down Hermione's cat which rubbed up against her leg, took the trunk and broom, and tried to locate Hermione and Luna.

"All right," Hermione said. "I've asked and found out that we're supposed to follow them." She gestured to the masses of students that were walking in groups of three or four to a mass of trees in the distance. "The school is just beyond those trees."

"Well okay, _Locomotor Luggage!_" Ginny cried, brandishing her wand at her things.

Ginny lifted her arm up to shield her eyes against the setting sun as she took a good look at where they were. Or rather, where they weren't. Simply put, they were in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't a house, building, or town in sight. Great grassy fields stretched on, only broken up by clusters of trees surrounding them. The only deviation from the squares of green fields and yellow wheat was the gravel road they were standing on, which stretched a long distance and then curved into the unseen. She squinted through the trees where no sign of a large castle was seen. She wondered what the school even looked like.

They walked for a distance across a grassy field; Ginny's luggage followed obediently, a meter or two in front of her. The grass below their feet was long, and it tickled at Ginny's ankles when she pulled the hem of her robes up to walk. The sun continued to sink, shining brightly in her eyes in its last moments of lightness.

When they reached the edge of the trees, Ginny felt Luna's hand press firmly on her back, urging her forward. Luna then skipped ahead with her flower-adorned trunk floating behind her. Her hair jumped behind her and floated gracefully down her back. Ginny noted bemusedly that she was not wearing shoes.

The walk through the trees seemed relatively short. Perhaps it was the presence of friends that made it so, but in total the journey couldn't have been longer than five minutes. When the trees thinned, Ginny peered through them at her home for the next four months.

The school was fine. It was certainly large enough to accommodate all of them. The castle curved gracefully around the focal point of the campus: a large bright fountain surrounded by wooden benches and tables, the perfect study area for fair-weather days. Ginny knew that there was no way it was as old as Hogwarts. Hogwarts had rubbish bins that were around centuries before this castle. And even though Ginny couldn't outright deny that the castle was gorgeous, homely, and humble, it still wasn't Hogwarts. It wasn't the school she had grown up in for the past seven years.

She followed Hermione and Luna across the grounds to the school. The grounds themselves were charming, flat and grassy with tiny clusters of white flowers poking up from the grass. Small groves of fruit trees were scattered across the vast lawn with cozy benches underneath and sandstone paths woven artfully through the groves.

They made their way to the tall front door and found themselves in a large, bright entrance hall with a grand central staircase. If there was one good thing to say about Abbey Alver, it was certainly brighter than Hogwarts. There were windows everywhere. Across the walls of the entrance hall, making up the edges of a balcony, were tall arches. On the left the arches led to a separate hallway, on the right one could see directly into what appeared to be the Great Hall.

Ginny's guess was right. Leaving her luggage in the center of the entrance hall like everyone else, she followed the black robes into the Great Hall. The American Students were already sitting at their tables. Just like at Hogwarts there were four of them and, like Hogwarts, they stretched all the way down the hall to the end, where the teacher's table sat horizontally across the front of the hall. There were differences that Ginny noticed as well: the ceiling was just a ceiling, no starry skies or candles; there was, however, a large chandelier, which she had to admit, was resplendent. And across the longest wall were windows, floor to ceiling, peering out over the bucolic grounds, which stretched on flatly for miles.

At the ends of the tables were four colored flags: red, green, blue, and yellow. Ginny assumed the red was for Gryffindor and went to sit at the table on the end nearest the windows. She assumed correctly and slid into place beside Hermione and Luna across from some of the American students. Demelza Robins patted her on the back as she slid in beside them, and Ginny returned a warm, slightly confused smile.

"Ginny!" Coote and Peakes, former Gryffindor beaters, said waving at her from a little down the row. Ginny winked to show that she saw them, and like others looked around for some answers. McGonagall was sitting at the front table next to the headmaster, and the other professors from Hogwarts were sprinkled among the students.

"Ahem," a tall severe man said standing up. Almost immediately the hall went quiet. "Before we dig in to tonight's feast, I'd like to say a few words. But first, let us welcome our fellow friends from Europe, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

* * *

A/N: Soooooooooooo remember what I said two weeks ago about updating this story sooner? Well in my defense, I was spending the week with my dear sweet grandmother, so you can't be too mad. Now that I'm not really working on any other stories, I'll be focusing more on this, but I'm not making any promises because I'm sure something will happen that will make it hard for me to update. I hope my explanations of the new school were good. It's supposed to be a charming school with a certain level of glamour and prestige while still being newer than Hogwarts. Kind of like that mansion in _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe._ On a completely random note, I had the strangest dessert the other day. It was deep-fried apples dipped in butter and then dipped in sugar and cinnamon with melted cheese sprinkled on top. Fattening? Completely. Yummy? Delicious. Ah, American food... Do you like it or hate it? Please leave a review; I like hearing from you. That's all folks! Longest freaking author's note in the entire freaking world. Next time, I promise it'll be less than ten words.

* * *

**Sammie**


	11. Uncharted Territory

**Chapter Eleven  
****Uncharted Territory**

All at once, the students of the school got up to go back to their dormitories. Feeling pleasantly gorged from the evening's feast with an extra dose of confusion because they still didn't know much about the school or really why they were there at all, she stood up and linked arms with Hermione and Luna, making sure they wouldn't get separated as the stampede moved forward toward the entrance hall. She looked around and noticed that most of the Hogwarts students were doing the same. Professor McGonagall hadn't said a word at the feast. Once or twice when Ginny peered down at her during the welcome feast, she seemed uncommonly nervous and upset over something. Usually she was the face of astuteness in the school.

Ginny shook the thought from her head and looked around for a familiar face to figure out what was going on.

Luna slipped her arm out from Ginny's and said loudly over the noise of the hall, "I should probably go back to Ravenclaw. I'm sure they've missed me over there!" Ginny smiled encouragingly as Luna skipped away into the crowd.

"Oi! Dennis!" she dragged herself and Hermione over to Dennis Creevey, who was currently a sixth year. "Do you know where we're supposed to going?" Ginny asked. Dennis turned toward her. He looked different than Ginny remembered. The summer had brought a world of changes for him. Now he was taller even than Ginny—not that she was all that tall—and he had broadened from the scrawny adolescent he used to be to a more mature looking man. His chin was defined and the scraggly makings of a beard were in the works. His face seemed sadder too, less boyish and wiser: war had changed him; after all, he had lost a brother.

When he spoke, his voice was deep. "I was told we're supposed to follow the purple ties."

"Purple ties. Got it," Ginny said, smiling encouragingly at Dennis. "Are you all right?"

"Splendid," Dennis muttered, barely heard over the loud students. "Absolutely splen-damn-diferous."

Ginny wanted to empathize with Dennis, she really did, but now she had more important matters to attend to. She squeezed lightly on his forearm and smiled up at him before she disappeared with Hermione into the crowd of students.

"Hey Purple Tie!" she called to a student wearing a purple tie. She reached out and patted him on the back as Hermione squeezed through the crowd as well. The student turned, and Ginny spotted the prefect badge sewn to the front of his robes. Perfect. "We're following you, Mr. Prefect," Ginny said giving her best what-the-hell-is-going-on-right-now smile.

* * *

"Nervous Harry?" Arthur asked. Mrs. Weasley fussed over the lapel of his jacket for about the millionth time that morning. Much like Harry's hair, it would not lay flat.

"If you have to ask, Mr. Weasley, I probably am," Harry said. He was very nervous. Harry had never given much thought to first impressions until now, and today they seemed to be overwhelming his thoughts. He wondered what kind of impression a seventeen-year-old boy who had never graduated Hogwarts and had childish ambitions of becoming an Auror would make on the ministry.

"You'll do fine, boys," Arthur said staring at Harry and Ron. The two of them were entirely overdressed for their first day of training.

"No offense, Dad, but that is probably the most cliché pep talk I've ever heard," Ron said nervously, grinning half-heartedly.

"I had more to say, Ron," Arthur said. "Sit down."

They were in the office of the Burrow. Actually, until now, Harry had only been in the office once before. It was the most unused room in the entire house and was only built for Percy, long ago when he had first started working at the Ministry. Arthur was sitting behind the desk, and Harry and Ron sat down across from him in the two squashy armchairs that sat facing him. Arthur fiddled with the old pieces of parchment and broken quills that were piled chaotically on top of the desk. Molly bowed out of the room, expertly mumbling something about hearing Teddy crying. "We've been thinking, your mother and I," Arthur sighed. "And we believe that it would benefit all of you—not just you and Harry, but all of you—to move out."

"You're kicking us out?" Ron blurted.

"Heavens no!" Arthur said quickly. "As long as you're in this family, you'll always have a home here. But your mother and I think that it would benefit all of us to not be in such close proximity for the rest of our lives."

"So you're kicking us out…nicely?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Arthur sighed. "I wouldn't be mad if you decided to live here for the rest of your life. But as young wizards, your mother and I think that your lives could be more productive elsewhere..." his voice trailed off.

Harry pulled a loose thread from the stitching on the chair. He wrapped it tightly around his finger until his fingertip turned blue and then released it.

He thought about what Mr. Weasley was saying and pondered over why he called Mrs. Weasley "Mum" when he was talking to Harry. Of course Harry loved the Weasley family. He loved them all. But loving someone and being a part of their family were entirely different things, and Harry was not part of their family. Until he could get Ginny to marry him that was. It was a thought that had entered his mind more than once in the past few months, marrying Ginny.

All was quiet for a few moments.

"You've talked to Charlie, Percy, and George then?" Ron asked.

"Charlie and Percy," Arthur said. He placed his hands together on the desk. "Charlie will be leaving for Romania in two weeks. Percy plans on getting a flat in London. Near the Ministry."

"George?" Harry asked.

"I haven't talked to him yet," Arthur admitted looking down. There was another long pause, and Harry felt his cheeks burn despite the lack of embarrassment. "Okay, I understand. You don't want to do it," Arthur continued with finality. "It was just a thought your Mum and I had." He pushed the chair out from the desk, but Ron remained seated. Arthur paused, hovering inches from the chair with his hands placed firmly on its arms, bracing him.

"Harry, George and I will be out of here before Charlie leaves for Romania," Ron finally said. "It's really—er—yeah, it makes sense. We'll go."

After another expanse of mind-numbing silence, Arthur pulled something out from under the desk, something that never seemed to stay in the same room for more than a week. Harry must have glanced at the Weasleys clock a million times in his life. There were nine hands on it all eight Weasleys plus Fleur, because she was married to Bill Harry assumed.

"I don't know if I've ever explained to you boys how this clock works," Arthur said, laying it haphazardly on the desk. "It has been in the family for generations."

Harry looked at it. It was a simple thing with ten brass hands and ten tiny pictures of each member of the family at the end of the hands. The hands pointed to possible locations of the Weasleys at any given time. Right now the hands of everyone except for Ginny were pointed at "Home." Ginny's hand was pointed at "School."

He stared at her name, engraved in the brass hand and yearned to see her again. He knew it was unhealthy to miss a person so much, after all she had only been gone a day, but he had never loved a person in quite the same way that he loved Ginny. He yearned for his own hand to put on the clock, to be a part of Ginny's family.

Arthur started talking, and it seemed like he was speaking more to Harry than Ron. "The concept is fairly easy. To get a hand on the clock, you have to be considered part of the family, and you have to consider yourself a part of the family. However, the execution is a little more challenging."

"Why doesn't Harry have one of these?" Ron asked. "He's part of the family, right?"

"I think that's for Harry to decide," Arthur said looking at Harry. "You see, if Harry doesn't consider himself a part of our family, then he can't ever have a hand on our clock."

"Don't I have to be related?" Harry asked. It seemed like a stupid question, yet there he was asking it.

"Do you?" Arthur asked throwing the question infuriatingly back in Harry's face. A few seconds later he pulled the clock back down and rested against the side of the desk. "Just some food for thought," he said. "Good luck with your training and your move. It isn't that we don't want you. But we think you'll be more free to become adults...elsewhere."

"Are you talking about me and Hermione?" Ron demanded. "Because I swear to you we didn't do anything!"

Arthur's eyebrows raised wryly. "I never suggested you did. And please, Harry and I could do without the gory details." He got up and walked out.

"I change my mind," Ron muttered to Harry. "That was the most awkward first-day-of-Auror-training pep talk I've ever gotten. And I swear we didn't do anything!"

"Yeah," Harry returned passively, but already, his mind was whirring.

* * *

There were too many people in the common room. Even though the room had more than enough space for its native students, doubling the amount of people occupying it made space tight.

The common room, much like the rest of the school, was very homely and comfortable. A huge sectional sofa took up an entire corner of the octagonal common room, and many overstuffed chairs were spread about. In the center of the large room, there was a grand double-sided fireplace. On the walls hung yards of purple chiffon and bronze silk, casting the room in a dusky glow. There were four large alcoves with ceiling high windows and cushioned window seats: the perfect place to read on a rainy day.

Hermione pushed her way to the chair that Ginny was already sitting in and sat down. Everyone waited with baited breath, not entirely certain of what was going to happen now.

"Excuse me!" a pleasant voice called out. The voice was quiet but still everyone turned to see who was speaking. Everyone was piled on to the left side of the common room where the blazing fire flecked across their faces. "Excuse me!" a woman said again, even though everyone was already quiet the first time. She was the only one standing, a younger woman with dark brown, almost-black hair chopped off right above her shoulders, and bright green eyes. Her face was peppered with a light dusting of freckles, and she appeared to be no older than Percy or Charlie.

"Good evening!" she said. Though young, she still commanded the room with ease and readiness. "Welcome returning students, new students, and students from Hogwarts! I hope you all had a lovely feast, but on to more pressing matters. I'm sure all of you have more than a few questions to ask and rightly so because we haven't been the most forthcoming with information. I'm afraid that not all of your questions will be answered in my small speech, but I'll do the best that I can with the information I currently know.

"For those of you who don't know, I am head of this house, Terra, but I am also the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of Abbey Alver. My name is Professor Maddox, but I have also been called Margot, Ms. Maddox, Ma'am, or Mom. But I wouldn't call me that last one unless you want to be jelly-legs jinxed.

"Abbey Alver is proud to be the home of all Hogwarts students for the semester, but you must be wondering why you're here. Hogwarts is one of the oldest schools of magic in the entire world. When the battle happened last May, some parts of Hogwarts were destroyed. Now, everything can and will eventually be repaired, but they've run into a few snags, so the changes couldn't be completed by September first, which is when term starts tomorrow.

"For this semester Hogwarts students will be here, as you know. You will be taking all of your normal classes with your normal teachers, but because of your current lack of Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration teachers you will be merging with us a few times a week. I hope that's not too much of a problem.

"Like Hogwarts, Abbey Alver has four houses. They are named Terra, Ventus, Mari, and Ignis or earth, wind, sea, and fire respectively. The Hogwarts houses are named for the founders of the school Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff."

She went on to explain about the school, which worked roughly the same way that Hogwarts did in terms of the house points system, the Quidditch tournament, the rules, the detentions, and the coursework. They had full use of anything on the campus except for the restricted section of the library and they weren't aloud to go beyond the trees that they had walked through to enter the school for obvious reasons.

"Any questions?" she asked when everything was all said and done.

Hermione was teeming with questions. Who wouldn't be? This speech was the only source of information they had regarding the school. And what was that about snags? What was wrong with Hogwarts?

A few hands were raised, but they provided only more questions that Professor Maddox couldn't answer.

"Weird, huh?" Ginny whispered in her ear as they were released to go to bed.

Hermione nodded briefly then let out a huge yawn. "What's that?" In her right hand Ginny was clutching a small, rectangular parcel.

"It's a gift from Harry," Ginny replied, holding it up for her to see. Hermione smirked, and Ginny shrugged defensively. "I'm curious to see what it is."

Hermione had smirked, but she felt a small pang in her heart as well. Ron hadn't gotten her a gift for her last year of school. Hermione knew it was petty, and Ron wasn't the romantic gift-giving type, but she hadn't thought Harry was that ardently in love with Ginny either.

* * *

Ginny's eyes followed the little plaque on the door that read "Seventh Years" as it swung away from her. Despite feeling like her stomach was going to explode and her eyes were going to fall out, she was very awake. Her mind was whirring with the news they had received. Now more than ever before, it seemed as though half of the pieces were missing in this mysterious puzzle which she yearned to figure out. Professor Maddox had been less than vague with her speech that night. But she pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she walked into the seventh year girls' dormitory.

There were six four-poster beds set up in a semi circle around the room, each with golden and white bedding. Across the room sat Ginny's shabby luggage. It seemed out of place in such a fancy room. She fell lovingly into the sheets of her bed, not even caring that she was dirty and sweaty from the long day. It was one of those times she didn't realize how long she had been awake until she closed her eyes and felt them burn in pleasure for a break. She pulled her hair back off of her neck and tied it into a bun with her hands and let it fall across her back.

On one side was Hermione's bed and on the other, Demelza Robins's. Besides Luna, Demelza had been the one good friend in her year that Ginny had. It was sad to see that all of her friends were gone now either graduated or not coming back to finish school for various reasons. Most of her friends had been a year older. Now she only had Hermione Delmelza, Luna, and maybe Dean. She could be friendly with Dean she supposed. Maybe.

"Hello!" two voices said brightly in unison. Ginny sat up quickly and found herself looking at the other two seventh year girls that had just walked in.

"Er, hello," Ginny said, somewhat nervously. She glanced over and saw that Hermione and Demelza were both sitting cross-legged on the ends of their beds. "I'm Ginny Weasley."

"Oh we know who you are!" one of the two girls said smiling. "You've been in the _Chimerical Chronicle_ all summer. By the way your accent is so pretty."

Ginny laughed softly. She wasn't sure whether she was amused by the fact that there was a paper called the _Chimerical Chronicle_ or because gossip about little old her had made it all the way across the world or because someone thought her voice was pretty. She had always thought she sounded somewhat like a man with her deep voice.

"Don't worry," the other girl said. "That gossip magazine is only accurate ten percent of the time."

"The reporters followed us around all summer," Ginny admitted. "What are your names?"

"Tessie Sparks," the girl on the left said extending her hand. Ginny shook it and smiled. Tessie had dark skin, even darker hair, and bright eyes that glimmered in the light. She shook with a surprising firmness, and Ginny noticed that her hand was hard and calloused.

"Do you play Quidditch?" Ginny asked.

"Keeper and newly appointed captain," Tessie said winking. "I've heard you play as well."

"I guess we'll be playing each other," Ginny said grinning.

"Irene Walcott," the other girl said. She was taller than Ginny, with curly blonde hair and a mass of freckles spread across her nose. She smiled, and Ginny noticed she had braces. Hermione would appreciate the braces.

* * *

The warm flames spit Ron out onto the marble floor of the Ministry's newly renovated atrium. An unpleasant feeling crept into the pit of his stomach making him regret eating breakfast. He was never completely comfortable coming to the Ministry of Magic. The last few times he'd been here had not gone very cheerfully, and he had heard far too many stories from his dad too ever feel good inside this building. He took a deep breath and tried to remember that Kingsley was the minister now. Things would be different.

"Argh!" someone yelled loudly in his ear. Ron, who was still on his elbows, was pushed to the ground when Harry fell on top of him. "Sorry," Harry muttered getting to his feet. He took his glasses off and began wiping the soot off of them. Ron attempted to regain his breath.

"Okay boys," Arthur called from the fireplace next to theirs. Of course he landed perfectly on his feet. "Kingsley said to meet you in his office. Level one. The biggest office, you can't miss it. Good luck guys, but I can't stay. Perkins says there's a situation involving singing and dancing candelabras and silverware; apparently someone tried to recreate _the Beauty and the Beast_ in a Muggle home."

Ron wondered what the Beauty and the Beast was, but he decided to leave it alone. He was feeling far too nervous to worry about Muggle things right now. Arthur walked away and Ron turned toward Harry. He felt the same sort of loneliness he'd felt on his first day at Hogwarts, seven years ago. Back then he was nervous be living without his parents.

Today was a different scenario, but he felt the same snag in his heart that he felt every time he had to leave his parents. Now he was leaving them for a job at the ministry. He wasn't sure why that phrase "a job at the ministry" made him feel so lousy. He was going to be an Auror; it was a good thing. He would never admit it, but he thought it had something to do with the fact that Percy left them for "a job at the ministry." The thought still chilled him to think about.

"Ready, mate?" Harry asked. He was much calmer than Ron was. Then again, Harry was always calm.

"No way," Ron sighed. Harry glanced back in understanding. "Let's do this."

* * *

It was much later that Ginny finally couldn't resist it any longer. She had to open up the gift Harry had given her. Demelza and Ginny were alone in the dormitory, for the others had gone to get ready for bed. She hopped up onto her bed and tucked her legs underneath her as she reached for her bag that was hanging from one of the posts on her bed. She carefully took out the package and used her foot to shove the bag under her bed next to her recently unpacked trunk.

She held the package in her hands for a moment wondering what it could be. She had always hated it when her mum or dad tried to unwrap a gift without tearing the paper, but that was what she did as she unwrapped Harry's present ever so slowly. Ginny could see Demelza looking at her from her reclined position on the next bed, and she felt her cheeks burn a little. She saw the corner of the present: a pattern of blue white blue. Perhaps it was a book. She tore off the rest of the paper in a single motion and stared at the gift. It was a blue gift with "Ginny" stamped across the center in gold lettering. It was a diary.

Ginny was surprised for a moment, but soon she felt the repulsion settle in. She needed to get the diary away from her and fast. She had hardly been able to look at a diary since first year. Why would Harry think it was a good idea to get her one now? Feeling like she might vomit if she touched the diary any longer, she hurled it away from herself as far as she could. It hit the wall across from her and landed facedown on the floor, a few pages bent underneath it. She slowly drew in a shaky breath and realized her body was shaking as well.

She climbed across her bed and slid under the duvet. She closed her eyes even though the lights were still turned on. She pretended to be asleep. Later there was the scratching footsteps and shuffles as everyone retired to their beds. The backs of her eyelids got dark when the lights finally went off. She lay there with her eyes closed for the entire night, but she didn't sleep at all. The rhythmic evenness of breathing pounded through her brain. She felt like a scab had been ripped off of her, one that had been healing for seven years. Now the wounds were fresh and the memories snapped clearly to the front of her mind. She wished the Malfoys had been executed long ago. It would have saved her a lot of heartache. She drew in uneven shaky breaths the whole night. And she lay awake wondering. It had been a long while since she had actually been scared to fall asleep. Almost seven years to be precise.

* * *

Harry picked up Teddy and swung him around once in the living room. He giggled and demanded to be put down again. Harry set him on his stomach on a blanket in the middle of the floor. He took out his wand and sent tiny blue sparks down like bubbles for Teddy to catch. This amused Teddy to no end, and meant that Harry didn't have to worry about him swallowing something, getting into something he wasn't supposed to, or hurting himself. Andromeda would murder Harry if Teddy got hurt.

Harry yawned and his eyes jumped to Charlie who had just entered the room. Charlie sat down on the couch across from where Harry was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"How was training?" Charlie asked thickly.

"Rough," Harry admitted. "I think Ron had a tougher time then I did though. They made us work on shield charms for an entire hour."

"Yeah, he's passed out on his bed right now," Charlie said. "What did you do?"

Harry explained that there were two trainers responsible for working with the Auror hopefuls: Williamson and Clemmons. All of the wizards in the training program, there were about thirty, were older than Harry and Ron, and they had all graduated school with almost perfect grades. Harry explained that the training regimen was very strict. One had to get every spell perfectly in order to move on. Today, Harry and Ron had both spent most of the day perfecting shield charms which they had done accurately plenty of times before. He didn't know whether it was because they were younger or because they were somewhat famous, but Harry and Ron were treated differently than the other members of the program. It seemed like Williamson and Clemmons were being unfairly strict on what was already a rigorous program.

Harry explained that he didn't understand the strictness and the need for accuracy in the program. He would have much rather worked on reaction time, agility, and quickness than perfecting spells that wouldn't be done exactly perfectly in a real battle.

Charlie agreed, but he also pointed out that the training program had been working for years. Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Kingsley had all graduated from the Auror program, and despite having their reservations and complaints, they had all been extraordinary wizards. Harry didn't feel the need to point out that only one of those three people was still alive.

"You'll do fine, Harry," Charlie said. "They have to accept you after all you've done."

"Oh and the paperwork," Harry sighed. "That was cruel and unusual. Height, weight, eye color, current place of residence, relationship status, list of extracurricular activities currently participating in, amount of calories consumed in a day, complete list of school rule infractions—how the sodding hell am I supposed to remember every detention Snape gave me?"

Charlie laughed. "They want to make sure they now everything about you."

"Just read _the_ _Prophet_," Harry pointed out. "Then they'll know everything, even how many times I've scratched my nose today. There's an interview portion tomorrow. Ugh, I can only imagine," he put on a falsetto voice and continued. "_Harry, do you floss every day?—You just hesitated. You can't be trusted. Leave! Now!"_

Charlie cracked up, but stopped suddenly. "Has Dad talked to you yet?"

Harry's grin faded. Teddy started fussing, so Harry picked him up and moved to a chair next to Charlie. "Yeah, I suppose we're moving out."

"It was Mum's idea," Charlie said in a low voice. "She thinks you and Ron can convince George to move back to Diagon Alley. She thinks she wants to spend time alone with Dad too, but I guarantee in two weeks she'll be begging you to come back. It hasn't been just her and Dad for almost thirty years."

"Yeah," Harry said bobbing his knee up in down to keep Teddy occupied.

"I think it'd be good for George to get out of the house though," Bill commented. "He hasn't been away from all of this for so long."

Harry nodded. He had been thinking the exact same thing. Getting out of the Burrow would be good for George. He'd been far too mopey lately, and the absence of Ginny and Hermione only made things worse. Now that the rest of them were busy with work and training, George had seemed even more disconnected. Harry wanted to help him start healing, but first George had to go back to the place where memories of his brother were still fresh. He had to go to the place where Fred was happiest.

* * *

**A/N:**_ I promised less than ten words. Please review. Thanks!_

* * *

**Sammie**


	12. Tumbling Down

**Chapter Twelve  
****Tumbling Down**

Ginny made an effort to choke down a bowl of cereal the next morning. The pieces felt lumpy going down, and the sip of pumpkin juice she used to swallow with left an unpleasant, bitter taste in her mouth.

It was the first day of her last year of school, and things were already going horribly. She had led herself to believe that her last year was going to be some sort of reunion, where all of her friends were back together making mischief and raising chaos without any stress, but that obviously wasn't the case. She hadn't mentioned the diary to anyone; it was still sprawled out on the floor of the common room: no one had noticed it there in the frenzy of morning routines. So far, Demelza was the only one who knew it existed.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked sliding into the bench across from her. "You look like a ghost."

"Well spotted," Ginny retorted slamming her glass of pumpkin juice back down on the table. The orange liquid sloshed over the edge of her goblet and onto the table in front of her, dripping down on her robes. She let out a loud sigh and rested her head on her hands.

"What is it?" Hermione asked in concern. "_Tergeo,_" she murmured addressing the liquid on Ginny's robes. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing, headache," Ginny mumbled.

She looked up to see Demelza and Tessie standing behind Hermione. They were talking animatedly as they whipped their bags under their chairs and slid onto the bench next to her. Hermione scooted down the row a bit to make room. Ginny caught enough of their conversation to realize they were talking about Quidditch. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to face Irene, who sat down beside her. Ginny pushed her bag to the floor to make room.

"Are you okay?" Irene asked. "You look awful."

"Fine," Ginny said without removing her head from its position in her hands. "Just a headache."

They left her alone for most of breakfast, giving Ginny too much time to ponder her thoughts. She wondered why Harry thought it would be a good idea to give her a diary of all things. Didn't he realize it was something as simple as a diary that had ruined her first year at Hogwarts? The day after he had saved her from Riddle's diary, Ginny had sworn to never let her thoughts drift to paper again. Her thoughts were for her head and her heart only. It had been too long since she had been able to open up to someone and tell them how she really felt. After the diary incident, Ginny found it difficult to trust again, even when she was trusting her family.

The sum rose higher and higher casting its warm, waking beams across the Great Hall. Ginny tried to concentrate, but her mind was drawn elsewhere. Then Dennis Creevey came up the aisle and squeezed himself into the empty spot in between Ginny and Irene. The spot wasn't meant for another person to fit in, and although he was skinny, Dennis was nearly sitting on top of Ginny by the time he wiggled his way in. Irene scooted to her right to allow as much room as possible for Dennis.

"Sorry, Ginny," he said. "I just really wanted to give you this."

He pulled his bag up to the table and Ginny's thoughts were replaced with curiosity. Dennis searched in his bag for a few minutes—Ginny glanced inside; it was very messy—and finally removed a small, square picture.

"Yes!" he said as if the picture was a prize. "Here you go…it's just a muggle picture from his muggle-picture-taking phase, but he always liked this one. I think he was going to give it to you…you know, before…"

He removed his hand from above the picture and slid it slowly toward Ginny. It was an old Polaroid image, and the people in it weren't moving. It depicted a couch in the Gryffindor common room. Upon closer inspection she saw that there was an arm stretched gracefully over the back of the couch. The arm was connected to a mass of jet-black hair. Leaning against Harry, Ginny recognized herself. Her head rested on his arm. Her red plait sat in a bunch on his arm. The two were looking at each other and simply talking about their day, or homework, or Quidditch. It had been a long time since they had just talked.

"I know we didn't always…appreciate his photography. But really, Dennis, this is a beautiful snapshot. You should keep it," Ginny picked up the photo with her thumb and index finger and handed it back to Dennis.

Dennis shook his head. "It's yours. I've got plenty more. His photography was relentless, I know, but he still managed to get some pretty good shots."

"Thank you," she mouthed as Dennis placed his hands on the table and stood up. He swung his bag over his shoulder and walked away.

She tried to interest herself in the conversation in which Hermione was explaining that seventh years were skipping first period this morning for individual meetings with there heads of houses about classes and careers and adult things that didn't interest Ginny in the least.

Exactly as Hermione explained, McGonagall came around the table distributing schedules to the younger students. To Ginny and Hermione, she gave small slips of parchment. On the parchment a time was scribbled in the Headmistress's neat handwriting: eight forty-five. She looked at the clock and figured she had almost an hour before her appointment. She had some time to kill, and she wasn't in a very murderous mood today.

Ginny wasn't exactly sure how she wound up in the library and she didn't know how to get back to the Great Hall, but there she was, standing in the middle of a paper room, breathing in the deep dusty scent of dead trees the black ink that spread endless stories across them. She used to like books. She truly did. They took her to the magical place far away. Where she was the damsel in distress waiting to be taken away on horseback by her prince. But time and growing up had taken a toll on her, and she quickly realized that fiction was just that, fictitious. Hermione liked to preach that more than the others. Still, it couldn't hurt to read just one more story.

She selected _The Fountain of Fair Fortune, _a favorite of hers ever since she was a little girl. Whenever her brothers were mean to her or off doing 'manly' things, Ginny would always sit outside on an old wooden swing in the Burrow's backyard and read that fairytale over and over.

Now, she sat poised at a wooden table in the library. She adjusted her feet so that they were crossed at the ankles, then swung one leg over the other so they were crossed at the knees, then took both of her legs and tucked them under her bottom, and finally settled into a comfortable position by crossing her legs in front of her and tucking her knees under her chin—she hoped Abbey Alver's librarian wasn't nearly as strict as Madam Pince and briefly wondered where Hogwarts's prized librarian was this semester.

Ginny opened the old not-so-gently-loved book and stared at the text on the first page. She read and reread the first line of writing about a dozen times without comprehending any of the information and without letting her mind wander any further than the ink and paper that was sitting in front of her.

She found herself woken from her mind's hibernation when the screeching of a chair dragged out from under the table caught her attention. She slowly raised her eyes to see Draco Malfoy, of all people, slide into the chair across from her. He hung his pack on the back of his chair and sat awkwardly for a moment. His usually perfectly combed silvery-blond hair was mussed and longer then normal.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked icily. Draco seemed to realize that he'd made a gauche decision and started to get up. Ginny tapped the cover of her book and let it fall to the table with a thud. "No stay," she said. Draco sat back down. Ginny didn't stop staring at him, making him fidget.

"I—er . . . I had to escape them," Draco explained vaguely. "When it comes to gossip, people are really awful. You . . . I thought you might understand."

Ginny bit her lower lip and looked down. She did understand. It wasn't easy to navigate through life when people seemed to know more about her than she sometimes did. "Do you want a pity talk? Because I'm not in the mood right now. We're not friends."

She looked up at him. He seemed weaker, frail. Draco looked like a child that had been through something terrible. His eyes were perturbed and fearful. His almost translucent skin clung to the bone making him look emaciated and haggard. And for a second, a brief, borderline-insignificant second, she felt pity for him. But the moment passed, and Ginny found herself, once again, sitting across from someone she loathed with every ounce of hate she had in herself.

"Where are your security guards, Draco?" Ginny asked foully.

Draco responded with an expression very similar to his mother, like he had just smelled a wet hippogriff.

"Never mind," she muttered. "Just don't talk to me ever again, okay? I hate you."

Before Ginny could see Draco's answer she grabbed up her bag and raced out of the library, leaving the fairytale book behind on the table. She didn't enjoy using that word, "hate." For only four letters, it was such a powerful word. But she honestly couldn't think of a more appropriate word for the scum that was Draco Malfoy.

Did Harry honestly believe the Malfoys had changed? Ginny certainly didn't. She didn't agree with a lot of things Harry had been doing lately. She wanted to know what had happened to the Harry she thought she knew. She wanted to know what had changed Harry so much in the past year.

To make a bad situation worse, Ginny's conference with Professor McGonagall went horrendously. She walked into the empty classroom with an already clouded mind and the meeting only made things worse.

"What kind of career are you thinking about pursuing, Ms. Weasley?" McGonagall asked.

"You can call me Ginny, Professor," Ginny said wrinkling her brow. "We've known each other for seven years."

"Mmhmm," the headmistress said noncommittally. Ginny couldn't help feeling that she was nervous about something. This was unnerving: usually the woman was the poster child of backbone.

"Are you doing okay, professor?" Ginny asked concernedly.

"I'm lovely, Ginny," McGonagall said dismissively. She folded her hands on the desk in front of her and straightened her back, sitting up a little taller. Peering over the tops of her half-octagon glasses, she said, "We're here to talk about you. Once more, what kind of career are you thinking about pursuing?"

"I'm really not sure," Ginny said, feeling a little guilty that she hadn't given much thought to the matter before.

"Not sure?" McGonagall said. "Let's take a look at your options. More than anything, seventh year is preparing you for the future, for a real job. Without a clear-cut path in mind, I'm not sure school can offer much for you this year."

They went over different options, everything from Auror—which Ginny did not want to be a part of under any circumstances—to wizarding event coordinator—which made Ginny want to be an Auror—to magical maintenance employee—which made Ginny almost beg to start on the Auror track. Sure being an Auror sounded admirable, but that career was for people like Tonks, Moody, and Harry for whom the difference between right and wrong seemed so clear. Ginny wasn't that type of person.

Ginny walked out of the unoccupied classroom ten minutes later clutching a schedule laden with classes for the year and a fair warning that she better decide on a career path soon, before it was too late. She'd decided on all the usuals; Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, but she dropped Astronomy and Divination and added Muggle Studies—if all else failed, she could at least go into the family business with her dad. Her current schedule left Ginny two open periods a day, one of which was coming up in ten minutes.

"Hey, Ginny!" someone called from down the hall. She whipped her head around to find Peakes, one of the former beaters for Gryffindor, walking toward her with his hand raised in salutation. When he reached her, he furrowed his brow in concern. "Is everything okay? You look a bit peaky."

"M'fine," Ginny mumbled, happy to see a familiar face. She hadn't caught wind of any of her friends since breakfast. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering when Quidditch tryouts were," Peakes asked hopefully. They began to walk together down the hall.

"As soon as I can figure out where the hell I'm going," Ginny said peering down the halls. "Seriously, this place is like a maze."

"And it doesn't help that when you a girl where we are, she rambles off at a mile a minute with her, like, helpful, like, directions," Peakes finished with a grin and a very poor attempt at a female American accent.

"But seriously, as soon as I figure out where the Quidditch Pitch is, okay?" Ginny said, holding Peakes's shoulder. She needed something that took up her entire concentration, like Quidditch, to distract her from whatever mind trauma she was experiencing as of late. "Don't worry Peakes. You and Coote will make the team. I can't imagine better beaters than the two of you." Actually she could, Peakes and Coote were good, not extraordinary, but she had enough tact to not burst any bubbles right before tryouts. And unless the new round of students was top notch, Ginny hardly thought she would find anyone that would give a better tryout than either of the scrawny boys.

"Oh don't say that," Peakes said, swinging his arms like he was swinging an imaginary beater bat. "For all you know those second years are really good." He grinned bemusedly and gave a half-chuckle.

Ginny smiled back forcedly, showing no teeth. "Oh we're here," she said recognizing the tapestry they needed to pass through to get back to their common room. "You coming?"

"No, er, I've got Herbology," Peakes said, cocking his head and staring at her dubiously.

"Er well, I'll see you around I suppose," Ginny said turning and walking through the purple tapestry back to the purple and bronze common room.

Once inside, she found Tessie, Irene, and another boy sitting in chairs close to a window.

"Ginny!" Tessie said tapping an open space on the chair next to her. "Come on in and sit a spell."

Ginny propped herself up and sat down next to the girl.

"We were just talking to Mickey. We don't have class this hour you see," Irene relayed brightly. "Oh wait, you don't know Mickey yet." Irene gave Mickey an affectionate gaze that Mickey didn't seem to pick up on, but Ginny did. "Ginny this is Mickey Jordan: member of the Ventus house, not-so-great at Quidditch, straight E student, and the funniest person you will ever meet in your entire life."

"I'm really not funny at all," Mickey said, extending his hand toward Ginny. They exchanged a shake. Mickey kind of reminded her of Lee Jordan is the way he carried himself. They also looked kind of similar: he had the same mop of dark, curly hair on top of his head, same almost-gold eyes, and the same crookedness in his teeth that made one of his front two teeth stick out slightly farther than the other.

"What did you say your last name was?" Ginny asked. She realized she had never let go of his hand and blushed as she dropped it.

"Um, Jordan," he said grinning slightly.

"Are you related to someone named Lee Jordan? He lives in Scotland I think."

Mickey shook his head. "Lee Jordan? He's my cousin! D'you know him?"

"He's one of my brother's best friends," Ginny said smiling. "And he went to Hogwarts, so yeah, I know him."

"That's so cool!" Mickey shouted exuberantly. Ginny felt a little bit better now that she had finally found some connection to her old life. Mickey stuck out his fist, which Ginny bumped against her own, somewhat clumsily.

"And Mickey," Irene continued the introduction. "This is Ginny Weasley: proud Gryffindor, seventh year, Quidditch captain slash chaser, stalked her entire summer by the paparazzi, and dating Harry Potter."

"I thought you looked familiar," Mickey said slyly. "I think those reporters are really foul for what they did."

"So we agree then," Ginny said with a smile. This was followed by a bout of inopportune silence. Not wanting to hurt Ginny's feelings, they said nothing more on the matter of the reporters.

"Ginny," Tessie finally said with a small hop on the chair they were sharing. "We were thinking about going out to the Quidditch Pitch after dinner tonight to get in some practice before tryouts. Would you like to join us?"

Ginny let herself relax a little. "I'm always up for Quidditch," she responded with a smile.

If there was one thing that could take her mind off of everything, it was Quidditch. The sun had faded behind the trees leaving ominous shadows over the pitch. Ginny gathered her robes up in a heap at her hip and swung her leg over the broom giving a strong kick from the ground to elevate herself into the air. The wind blew against her back, making her hair fly forward into her face. She slowed down and tried to wipe the red strands out of her eyes, but every time she did so they would blow right back in her face and mouth. She gave up on her hair and concentrated on the pitch below her.

Taking a few warm-up minutes to weave through the golden hoops at either end of the pitch, she urged her rickety old broomstick to go faster. For a captain, the condition of Charlie's old Cleansweep six was less than ideal. Riding Harry's Firebolt over the summer had been like a drug to her. Going back to the Cleansweep was somewhat depressing. She would have to start saving her spare change in hopes that she could afford a new broom at some point.

"Race you to the trees!" Irene called. Ginny met her gaze with a slight smirk.

"You in, Tess?" Irene called in the other direction, where Tessie was showing off an impressive exhibition of twists and turns. Ginny squinted in the darkening night and saw that Tessie was wearing a smirk too, her face etched with determination. Ginny already knew it would come down to a battle of the captains.

"First one to the trees wins!" Irene called, but Ginny and Tessie had already launched their brooms forward.

"Come on, come on," Ginny urged begged, maneuvering her body almost parallel to the broomstick. She closed her eyes and let the wind whistle past her. It made her feel like she was going faster than she was. When she opened her eyes seconds later, Tessie was right next to her; the head of her broom was mere inches farther than Ginny's. Ginny pulled her broom forward, and it gave a sickening shudder: after almost ten years of flying, the fickle broom didn't like going faster than it needed.

She didn't know whether it was because yearned to show off her Quidditch skills or because she really needed to after everything bad that had happened to her this year, but Ginny needed this win. She was going to do everything in her power to get it.

Her hair whipped dangerously behind her head as she concentrated on the small grove of oak trees about four hundred meters in the distance. With her peripheral vision, she could see that she was pulling ahead of Tessie. By now, Irene was out of the running by a long shot. Tessie wasn't giving up so easily. Ginny urged her broom onward, draining every ounce of oomph that was left in the enchanted wood.

She affixed her gaze on the trees. Her only thought was to get to them first. But her broom gave a shudder and a lurch, and before she knew it, she was spiraling out of control.

Ginny woke up with her right arm fastened to her stomach in a white sling.

"She's alive!" a smiling man said, swooping down on her. He was dressed in mint green robes, and Ginny realized he was a healer. "Here drink this. You had quite a nasty fall you did." He cheerfully bustled around the cot she was laying on and handed her a crystal blue potion.

"We haven't met I'm Mr. Mercado, Abbey Alver's finest healer," he introduced himself enthusiastically, extending his hand for Ginny to shake. Ginny started to raise her right arm but stopped when she realized she couldn't. She opted for an uncomfortable left-handed handshake at which Mr. Mercado merely smiled and shook his head from side to side. He was a younger healer; then again, everything at this school was younger.

"At this rate we'll be seeing a lot of each other," he said.

"Er, yeah," Ginny mumbled, sliding up to a sitting position and feeling her face. It felt bruised and numb, but she couldn't ignore the rough bumps under her fingertips that felt like deep cuts.

"Those will heal in about twenty-four hours," Mr. Mercado said on a more serious note. "And I recommend you keep that sling on for a day or two." Suddenly he clapped his hands together, making Ginny jump in surprise. He gestured outward like he was going to hug her and said, "Other than that you are free to go!"

"Already?" Ginny asked incredulously. "You're not going to make me stay here over night and eat beet soup?"

"Beet soup?" he asked. "I thought the point of a healer was to make you feel better."

"Madame Pomfrey would always make us eat beet soup and stay overnight," Ginny explained.

Once she was released, it was well past an hour before she actually found her way back to the common room. Hardly anyone was roaming the halls, but the people that were out past sundown were all staring at her and whispering. It wasn't a new concept, being talked about, but Ginny would be lying if she said she felt any more comfortable now then the first time people started talking about her behind her back.

When she finally stumbled up the wooden steps to the girl's dormitory, exhausted, hot, and haggard from the day, she was bombarded with bushy brown hair and a pair of thin arms that nearly strangled her.

"Ginny!" Hermione squealed. "I've hardly seen you all day except for classes!"

"Good to see you too, Hermione," Ginny said. It was honestly good to see a familiar face after her long day.

"Have you heard the news?" Hermione asked. Ginny didn't bother saying anything; she was sure she would find out in a moment. "I'm Head Girl!"

"That's bloody brilliant, Hermione!" Ginny said, giving her a left-armed hug. "Wait, why didn't we know that before?"

Hermione stood back and bit her bottom lip, crinkling her brow in concern. "I really don't know. It seems weird though, doesn't it? Usually McGonagall is so put together. What do you think happened this year?"

"It's only her first year as headmistress," Ginny pointed out.

"But still . . ." Hermione's voice faded out as she pondered the obscurity, and she lowered her eyes to Ginny's splint. Ginny gave an inward groan because she knew a round of questions and pity was in store.

As if it were rehearsed Hermione started vomiting questions: "Are you okay? What happened? Where did this happen?"

"Hermione—Hermione—Hermione," Ginny said, raising her good hand and placing it firmly on Hermione's shoulder. "I'm fine. I will be better tomorrow. I had a little crash at the Quidditch Pitch. My broom is fine—at least, it isn't more damaged then it already was. Everything is hunky-dory. If you want to help, you can just stop asking questions. I have a really bad headache." A few times during Ginny's spiel, Hermione opened her mouth to talk, but Ginny held up a finger and cut her off. When she was finally done, there was silence for a moment while both girls gathered their thoughts.

"You know what I've been thinking," Hermione said finally. They both returned to their beds and sat on the corners of the golden blankets, so they faced each other.

"What?" Ginny asked unnecessarily.

"We've been far too serious the past few months," Hermione pointed out. Ginny agreed wholeheartedly. "I think we should just relax and enjoy this year. I mean, this is our last year of school! We are going to graduate. Not even Harry and Ron can say that!"

Ginny smiled. "I agree, but can we maybe 'enjoy our final year' another day. Right now I just want to sleep."

"Agreed," Hermione said, and she stuck out her pinky. Ginny stared blankly at it. "Sorry I forgot." She pulled her hair off of her shoulders and onto on side of her face. "It's a muggle thing. We link them, for promises and stuff."

Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand and hooked her tiniest finger in her best friend's. "I promise I won't be such a mopey bore," she said.

"Me too," Hermione agreed, and they swayed their hands back and forth with their pinkies linked together.

Later, after Irene and Tessie came back and fussed over Ginny, and after Demelza came back and fussed over Ginny, Hermione hopped over to the other side of the room to turn off the lights.

"What's this?" she asked quietly. Ginny had been sinking quickly to sleep, but she heard the ruffle of pages and sat bolt upright with her blankets covering her lap.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked in concern. Ginny looked and saw Hermione's silhouette with a book in her hand. "Ginny you'd better come read this," Hermione said. Her voice was hushed, but Ginny sensed the urgency in it. She peeled the covers off of herself and leaped across the room to Hermione. As Ginny had suspected, and feared, Hermione was holding the diary Harry had gifted. The first page was open, and on it was his handwriting.

_Dear Gin, __I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know this was the last thing you wanted or needed right now with everything going on. I know you probably haven't looked at this long enough to even notice this note, but if you have, I wanted to explain why I gave you a diary. I know the two of us, we're not the best at expressing what we feel to each other or to anyone, and I don't think that's a good thing. I don't want either of us to go insane bottling up everything and just exploding at each other. You said so yourself, I'm a very extreme person, but you are too. I want you to at least consider writing in this diary, and even if you don't, you should know that I've started one as well. We're in this together. Your mother told me you used to love writing. __Love, Harry_

Ginny went back to her bed and reached into her bag for the picture that Dennis had given her that morning. She tucked it into the first page of the diary and slid the leather-bound book underneath her bed.

It was easy for Ginny to fall asleep that night. It was the first time she could say that in years. Maybe Harry had said just the right thing. "We're in this together." It wasn't "I love you," or a marriage proposal, nothing fancy, but it was exactly what she needed to hear.

* * *

**A/N: **It's been a while since we last chatted. I'm hoping the names of the American characters aren't too cheesy. I really hate it when OC's have dumb names. I know Mickey, Irene, and Tessie aren't America's most common names, but I think we can make their characters work. I split this chapter into two smaller chapters, so the next one will be out…soon. That's about it. Wait, no it's not. Have you heard about J.K. Rowling's new site Pottermore? I really can't deal with suspenseful things, and I'm interested to find out what it is... That's all folks. You can click the little "Review This Chapter" button, but again it's optional. Goodbye for now!

* * *

**Sammie**


	13. Moving, Not Moving On

**Chapter Thirteen  
****Moving, Not Moving On**

Waking up with stiffness in his bones was not an uncommon feeling for Harry Potter. It was almost normal. He clambered out of bed carefully, nursing his right arm: his wand arm. It wasn't that he had expected Auror training to be easy, but it turned out to be grueling.

Kingsley had set Harry and Ron on a path that would expedite their training, but this meant more hours of work, twice as many potions to brew in half the time, and more time with the two Auror trainers who were even stricter than Snape when it came to getting things correct the first time.

Today was Saturday, and they only had classes Tuesday through Friday, so he had a full three days to recover. He kept having to remind himself it would be worth it in the end.

Harry staggered over to the door, past a heavily snoring Ron, and padded down the steps to the Burrow's only shower off the landing between the first and second floors. He removed his glasses and placed them carefully on the indent below the sink's faucet, usually reserved for a bar of soap. Double-checking the lock to make sure it closed properly, he removed his bedclothes and turned on the shower. The water always came out cold, lukewarm at best, and Harry fumbled around in the mass of freshly slept in clothes for his wand. Though it was only September, his feet felt icy on the linoleum tiles of the bathroom. He quickly put a warming charm on the showerhead, feeling it emit a balmy temperature, and stepped under the water, sighing in pleasure as it beat its rhythmic pattern across his sore muscles. He relaxed his whirring mind by scrubbing the shampoo against his scalp, letting his worries slide off him with the water.

He glanced idly down at the hippogriff tattoo now permanently inked into his chest. He was certain when he was forty he would regret getting it. Why oh why had he let Ginny talk him into that? Why could she talk him into anything with a simple smile and eye twinkle that he couldn't resist? It was something he found both endearing and infuriating about her.

_Moving Day, _Harry thought quite cheerfully, whistling an off-key tune as he hitched his pants up and buttoned them. The anticipation of moving to a new place both excited him and made him very nervous. He was excited to be living on his own, with Ron and George in the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but he was anxious to how George would react—he knew it was moving day, but everyone had omitted a few details about their new location. He pulled out the tongue of his trainer and yanked it onto his foot, tying the laces snugly. Despite his soreness, today would be a good day. Of this he was certain.

* * *

Molly Weasley dumped a fresh load of laundry into her wicker laundry basket and inhaled deeply letting the crisp smell of warm clothing trickle through her. As long as she lived she would never tire from the smell of fresh laundry. She balanced the basket on her hip and waddled out of the scullery on her way up to Ron's room on the top floor.

She passed by the rooms of each of her children on her way. A pewter nameplate was nailed to the center of each door, and each door stood slightly ajar, allowing Molly tiny glimpses of their lives.

"Ginny," she read rubbing her finger across the five letters as she passed by the door on the right. She paused and glanced inside at what it had accumulated over the years: a Weird Sisters poster, a disorganized white vanity, an extra bed—Bill's—for when Hermione was visiting, a purple afghan across a wooden slat back chair, a Holyhead Harpies poster, a pair of Omnioculars, two pictures tacked next to her nightstand depicting her and her friends, a clipping from the _Prophet_ when their trip to Egypt was featured, a box of long-forgotten memories, and something wriggling under a pair of too-small dress robes cast aside at the bottom of the closet. A bit of pink fur nuzzled its way out from under the cloth, followed by a round fuchsia body.

"Arnold! What are you doing here?" Molly asked the pygmy puff, as it glanced up at her and gave a little hum. She walked over to it and scooped it up on top of her laundry. It hummed again, which Molly hoped was a good thing. She would have to send it with Harry next time he went to visit Ginny. "Guess we've both been a little forgotten in the midst of it all."

The next room she passed was Bill's. Apart from a few pairs of robes, a lonely trainer, a picture of the family, his old set of wizards' cards, and two newspapers stacked on top of his dresser, her eldest child's room was nearly empty. A thin layer of dust coated everything: Charlie hadn't been here for months.

George's room, or the room of "Shred and Scourge Weasley" as their plaque read, was halfway boxed up. Half of everything was packed and half remained untouched in the room, as if only half of him was moving out today. Swallowing thickly and pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, Molly realized the things remaining in the room were all Fred's. The closet half full of clothes, one of the two nightstands still cluttered, George had even been so precise as to clean half of the "experiment" stained walls. It killed Molly to see George scrutinize his twin's death so much.

Charlie's and Percy's rooms were the same: boxed and ready to move out today. Molly wondered why she had thought it a good idea in the first place to make her kids move out. She breathed in a shaky breath and continued up the stairs, telling herself it was for their own betterment, not for her selfish desires to keep her children at home forever. She finally clambered up the last set of stairs to Ron's room where she found her last two sons packed into brown boxes and ready to thrust themselves into the bustling world.

_Moving Day, _Molly thought to herself, folding each of Harry's muggle t-shirts, which were the size of tents on his thin figure. _You can love your kids and care for them and do everything in your power to keep them babies forever, but what do they do to repay you? They move on and want nothing to do with you until they have grandkids. _It was going to be a very bittersweet day for Molly Weasley.

* * *

Harry kneeled backward on the couch, placing his hands on the small ledge of the bay window that was cracked open. He peered out at the yard where Mrs. Weasley was squeezing Charlie tightly, and five of Charlie's friends were attaching luggage to the bottom of their brooms. Charlie patted his mum comfortingly on the back as she buried her face in his jacket. Then he released her and Molly ran back to Arthur. Arthur took a moment to hug his second eldest son as well, then stepped back as Charlie prepared to leave. He swung his leg over the top of his broom and waved as he kicked off from the ground. A large cardboard box suspended below him. His friends followed suit, forming a perfect pentagon. They rose higher into the air and Molly and Arthur continued waving until they disappeared into the clouds.

It was a grey day, and quiet too, almost too calm to be real. The air smelled damp and soggy, like he could almost smell a tempest brewing in the distance.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came back inside together and reentered the living room. All of Harry's, Ron's, and George's things were packed into three trunks and a dozen boxes—the boxes were mostly Ron's and George's things as Harry hadn't accumulated many possessions in his years at Privet Drive.

Harry returned his gaze to the inside of the cramped living room. His eyes met Mrs. Weasley's, noticing that her posture was forced and stiff. He knew she wouldn't cry. None of them would cry. There had been far too many tears this past summer to waste any more.

One by one Harry, Ron, and Arthur each flooed a box to the flat. On his first go around, Harry noticed how really attached at the hip Fred and George were to each other. Two of the same thing of everything: two toothbrushes in two different cups on opposite sides of the bathroom sink, two mugs sitting upside down on the countertop in the kitchen, two _Quibblers _sat on the breakfast table, two sets of shoes by the door, two pairs of magenta work robes. Everything came in pairs; he wasn't confident George would be able to handle pairs yet.

Once all the luggage was moved, Harry went upstairs to get George and take him to what he thought was going to be a new flat in London.

"You have to come by every Sunday night for dinner, and if you have any questions about Teddy you know who to floo, and if you ever need a place to stay we have the room, and you don't have to move out you know," Molly fussed, going around to each of them and hugging them tightly. She fussed because it made her feel better, Harry knew. Fretting helped her get by.

"Bye, er, Molly," Harry said softly as she threw her arms around him again. He stooped down as she kissed his forehead. "Thank you so much for . . . for everything."

"That's what family is for," Molly whispered, solidifying everything Arthur had said about family a few days previously. "You don't have to thank anyone."

"But I do," said Harry, leaving Ron and George to say their goodbyes as he stepped into the cool green flames once more.

He landed painfully on his hands and knees back in the loft above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. No matter how many hundreds of times he used the floo network, he never could quite stick the landing. A couple minutes later Ron dragging George tumbled out of the fireplace, both with weak knees.

Ron gave a heaving sigh and stretched him arms above his head with a yawn. George got up nervously and peered around looking utterly vexed as he realized where they were.

"Damn," he cursed standing still and distraught on the kitchen tiles.

Harry aimed his gaze toward Ron, and for the first time they realized how stupid of an idea it was to bring George here without telling him first. The twenty-year-old looked heartbroken, a mere shadow of his former vivaciousness.

Harry waited patiently for George. Defying his expectations, George didn't try to leave. He just stood in the middle of the red and orange tiled kitchenette, breathing shallow, staccato breaths.

Ron continued on into the flat, opening a couple of boxes. Comforting people was not his forte, nor was it Harry's, but intervening now would be almost tactless.

"Listen, mate. I'm sorry, but we didn't think you would come unless we sprung it on you like this. It could be a good thing though. I know you were so much happier when you worked here, and I—"

"It's okay, Harry," George said morosely. "I had to come back at some point. I've been so sedentary all summer; it'll be good for me to do some work." The fact that George danced so gingerly around the topic of Fred didn't make Harry feel any better, but he was relieved that George didn't try to run off immediately. He supposed the pain would set in later, probably once they started unpacking.

"Music?" Harry asked, pulling out his wand and waving it at the cassette player sitting on top of the fridge across the room. Celestina Warbeck's "You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me" blared out. Harry raised his eyebrows and turned to George who actually attempted to crack a small smile.

He was standing over the top of a box pulling out a Chudley Cannons poster. "Mum was here," he said. "And Ron, we are not hanging this blasted poster on _my _wall. You're the only one who actually likes these losers."

"The Chudley Cannons have won twenty one League Cups!" Ron spluttered. "Don't you dare challenge their greatness!"

"Twenty one 'League Cups' compared to the Harpies' seven World Cups. I wonder which team is more competent," George pondered sarcastically. "We might have something by the Weird Sisters if you look in the cabinet, Harry."

* * *

"I'm starving," Ron complained, tossing a pile of clothes messily at the bottom of the closet.

"I don't think I can think of a single instance in the seven years we've known each other that you weren't starving," Harry replied.

"I can think of one or two," Ron muttered quietly, but Harry had already turned back to examine a box full of moving pictures. A two-year-old Percy was bashfully taking a dump behind a tree by the looks of the picture on top.

George felt his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. He had been so caught up in being apathetic that he hadn't even considered being hungry. "I'll go get something."

"You sure?" Harry asked as his fingers fanned through a few more pictures. Though his back was turned to George, it was obvious that he looked up pointedly at Ron. And though Harry's body was between Ron and him, it was blatant that Ron was responded with a noncommittal shrug. George's eyes flipped briefly to the top of his head and waited for Harry's 'permission'.

"I suppose you can go," Harry said slowly. "But—"

"So bagels?" George asked racing over to the kitchenette, grabbing his jacket and disapparating before either Harry or Ron could protest. He'd only apparated as far as the front door. He felt no guilt for not walking down the stairs and through the shop. It was enough to spring Fred's home on him so soon; he didn't think he could handle looking at his twin's baby today.

As he walked down the street, cold air nipped as his face. It was darker too, and the world was hushed. A storm was coming soon. He bustled quickly through the street avoiding eyes. He'd almost forgotten how annoying it was to be gawked at. Ever since the press had assaulted the Burrow, he'd probably been in the news every day. He wouldn't know. He hadn't looked at the _Prophet _in at least two years.

George reached the tiny bagel shop, Palentino Du Pain, on the large paved corner where Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour used to be. After Florean was murdered, a young couple started a humble bagel shop there. It wasn't a very popular café, but George used to occasionally stop by for a quick bite when he needed a quiet place to mull things over.

When he walked in there was the little jingle of sleigh bells, and he was hit with the smell of fresh-out-of-the-oven bread, light and strong at the same time. As if coming from the back room of the shop, quiet Muzak played, making him feel calmer and more relaxed.

"Why hello, sir!" a young man called, approaching George with his thick arms spread out wide. It was the café's owner, Mr. Palentino. For his age—he couldn't have been much older than George himself—the owner of the shop was very jolly, and he sported a large grown-out beard that hung just below his collar. "How may I assist you?"

"Er . . ." George stared at the menu earnestly then looked back at the man. "Let's see. I want a rosemary bagel, two poppy seeds, and throw in a blueberry and a plain one as well. Erm, for the spreads I'll have them all with regular cream cheese. And I also want three coffees."

"Two galleons, seven sickles, and two knuts," Mr. Palentino said with a grin. "But I'll knock off the knuts so just the two galleons and seven sickles."

George dug in his pocket for some money when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Alicia Spinnet standing behind him. She smiled shyly and gave a small wave.

"Alicia!" George said in relief. He turned around quickly to face one of his best friends. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in forever! Wow . . . Alicia."

"Sheesh," she said, peeling herself out of George's grasp and bugging her eyes out. "It's only me. Don't give yourself an ulcer."

"Sorry," George muttered. "But I honestly haven't seen you in forever. Where have you been?"

"Around," his best friend replied vaguely. "If you had travelled out of your room at all this summer, you might have seen me."

George found some money in his pocket, and slammed it on the counter for Mr. Palentino.

"Are you here by yourself?" George asked.

"I'm here with Nev and Katie," Alicia said, gesturing to a table in the corner. "I felt like a bit of a third wheel, but Katie insisted I wouldn't be intruding on their _second date._ What are you doing here?"

"I'm just getting bagels for lunch. Harry, Ron, and I are moving back in . . . above the shop," George explained, sliding into the chair of the nearest table. Alicia sat down across from him. Outside the sky was growing steadily darker. "So Longbottom and Bell? When did this happen? I didn't even know they fancied each other."

Alicia rolled her eyes slightly. "After, well you know, after . . . Neville got pretty popular. You know because of that, er, thing with the snake and sword and, er, all—" George nodded and she continued. "Anyway he started hanging out with us—Ang and me—to escape all of the girls that had been coming up to him—having Romilda Vane, Lavender Brown, and Marietta Edgecombe simultaneously lusting after you is a right piece of work. I felt bad for poor Neville. Romilda was the worst, but now she's gone off to school, and Marietta found herself a new boy toy. Lav's got—I don't know about Lavender; she's just plain crazy. But back to the story, now that school's back in session and the others have calmed down, he finally worked up the nerve to ask out Katie," Alicia finished with a humph, pushing a few dark curls out of her eyes.

"You don't think she really likes him?" George speculated.

"I don't think either of them _honestly_ like each other," Alicia admitted. A crack of thunder rolled in the background. "I think they're only dating because they've been lonely this summer. Their friends haven't exactly been paying much attention to them this summer."

It was clearly a jab at George. "Ouch," he retorted. "I've been busy!"

"I'm sure downing a bottle of Firewhiskey a day takes up most of your time," she snapped back. She got up from the table. "Listen, do you need any help with anything at your flat? I won't be busy at all this afternoon."

"No," George said wistfully. His mind returned to the thoughts of gloom that the shop brought him. "And I've been sober for two months now," he mumbled.

"You seem so excited," Alicia said, raising her eyebrows and staring at him with her bright brown eyes. "You could use a friend I think. You've been spending far too much time in your own little bubble in your own little house where nothing can harm you. Come on."

When she snatched his hand in hers, and he noticed it was icy cold. He rubbed it quickly between his palms to give it warmth, and Alicia smiled up at him again.

"Your bagels!" Mr. Palentino called, and George went back to grab the brown paper bag full of warm bagels. Alicia still had her right hand intertwined in his left. But she levitated the three coffee mugs with her wand and they walked outside on Diagon Alley.

"_Iiieeee_!" Alicia screeched when they reached the sidewalk. Without warning it started pouring down rain on them. Alicia covered her hair with her hood, and in the process she lost concentration and spilled the hot coffee all over herself. "Ah, damn," she cursed pulling her jacket out from her body. It now had brown spattered all over the front and the sleeves. "Gross."

George laughed. "You're such a girl."

"Well spotted, Weasley."

"It's okay. I hate coffee."

They walked up to the front of the store. George's heart sank when he realized this was the first time he had seen it since. He shut his eyes and looked down, not wanting to look at the orange and purple painted building anymore. It had been Fred's idea. Fred's brainchild. Fred's pride and glory. George sometimes felt like he had just been the passenger seat in Fred's car.

"Wait, honestly?" Alicia asked. Her voice was hard and accusing. "You haven't been down here yet? What are you waiting for?"

"I can't do this, Leesh," George whispered. The rain poured down on their backs so that any hope they had of staying dry was now shattered. "This isn't mine, it's Fred's." The name felt sandy and awkward on his lips even though he'd said it a million times before.

"It's both of yours," Alicia said. "You were co-partners."

"Haven't you ever wondered why we're Fred and George? No one's ever called us George and Fred. It was always Fred who had the good ideas, not me. Extendable Ears? Fred. Fizzing Whizzbangers? Fred. This whole sodding shop? It was Fred's idea! Not mine. I can't go back in there and pretend like nothings happened. I can't move on, Alicia."

"Then don't," her voice was blank. George couldn't sense any emotion coming from her. "You're coming in here." She opened the glass door and ran inside the shop. "Come on it's nice and warm and cozy."

"I can't. It hurts," George said standing in the doorway, looking at his feet.

"Do you think it'll hurt any less ten days, ten months, or ten years from now?" Alicia asked. George looked up at her. She was doing a dance in the middle of the shop where the shelves widened to create an empty area. It was so stupid of a dance in her coffee-stained jacket that George almost had to smile. "Come on in. I'm not making you move on, I'm just making you move!" she exclaimed.

"You don't have a twin brother, you wouldn't understand," George said, making another excuse.

"You're right," Alicia said stopping suddenly. "But I was also born without the pity-party muscle so I can't throw one of those either." She was suddenly serious. "I _don't_ pity, and right now you're being pitiful."

"I am not!" George protested.

"Then come on in and sit a spell, darlin'!" Alicia said in her best southern accent and giving him a cheeky little smile. She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

She was right of course. The room was warm, dry, and inviting, almost as if he was coming back from a trip to the apothecary or a long day out. Perhaps it was the stench of old love potions wafting out of the back room, but the shop smelled like home too. George inhaled and cinnamon, bagels, parchment, sugar, and a familiar smell he couldn't quite place wafted into his nose. As much as the shop reminded him of home, it also radiated Fred in everything from the purple-carpeted floors to the orange shelves stacked to the ceiling with old joke shop products. His heart gave a shudder of longing for his twin: the other half of him that had been missing. George could imagine Fred in the back room now, testing out a new batch of Skiving Snackboxes. But Fred wasn't there. He would never be in this shop ever again.

They were both quiet for a moment, consumed in their own thoughts. It was George who broke the silence. He shook his shaggy, wet hair out of his face. "Let me get you something clean to put on," he mumbled, as he rushed up the stairs. Hot tears sprung to his eyes, and he fought to suppress them, swallowing deeply.

At the top he found Harry and Ron still unpacking. They looked exhausted, but George had no time for them.

"There you are!" Ron said, leaping up and knocking over a box full of bathroom supplies. "We thought you'd gotten lost!" He grabbed the bag from George and inhaled deeply. "Mmmmm," he groaned. He took out the blueberry bagel and nibbled on it. "Shtill woorm," he sighed with a full mouth.

"No t-time—Alicia—shop—clothes—bye," he managed to make out without bursting into sobs. He grabbed one of his old, G-adorned Weasley jumpers and a pair of too-small jeans and raced back downstairs, biting his lower lip until he tasted the metallic taste of blood inside his mouth.

"Here," he said thrusting the clothes at her.

"Don't look," she said, smiling a bit. George hadn't even been thinking about looking until she'd said that. He turned away and concentrated his gaze at a small, perfectly circular stain on the purple carpet. He heard the sound of fabric on her skin as she changed into his old clothes.

She tossed the soiled clothes aside, and George heard her footsteps across the floor coming toward him. She hooked her arm in front of his and around his waist. "Come on. Sit down," she spoke gently, pulling him with her as she slid to the floor and leaned back against the pumpkin-colored wall of the shop. She drew her wand out of her pocket with her left hand and pointed it at the top of the stairs, "_Silencio,_" she whispered.

George sank down, still fighting back the tears. Alicia noticed. "It's okay to cry you know."

"It's not," George said miserably. "I've cried too much this year. I don't _feel_ like crying anymore."

"Sometimes you can't help it," Alicia said sensibly. "Maybe just once more, and then you never have to cry again if you don't want. Sometimes crying is strength."

George let a tear slip down the side of his face and he drew in a shaky breath. There were very few people on the planet that he would let watch him cry. The single droplet of saltwater broke the sluices on his eyes and he felt more tears follow. He would cry one last time for Fred's sake and then never again.

"I wish it were me," George quivered. "I think he would have a better time dealing with this than me."

"Shhh," Alicia said soothingly, rubbing his head gently with her fingers. "You don't really think that. Everything will be all right; you'll see. Don't keep it in. Tell me what you're feeling."

"I-I thought you didn't pity," George pointed out, drawing in another short breath.

"I don't, but I'll always lend a set of ears to you," Alicia said.

So George spoke. He talked about everything: summer, his family, the war, and mostly about Fred. Everything he had loved about his twin. How they had been attached since birth. How even though she tried, his mum could never truly understand his pain, for she had never lost a twin. How some days were better than others, but other days he felt like he couldn't go on any further. He talked until he didn't understand what he was saying anymore and then he stopped. And he cried.

"Can you tell me a story?" he asked when had finally run dry of tears. The distant thunder echoed in the background, and a flash of lightening illuminated the inside of the dark shop.

"A story?" she asked with her fingers still laced in his hair. "About what?"

"Anything," he replied. "I just want to hear a story."

Alicia thought a minute before beginning. For someone who didn't have the pity muscle, she was being awfully affectionate right now. "Okay. Once upon a time there was . . ."

And George sunk his head down to her lap, resting on the floor of the joke shop. He couldn't tell you what the story was about. He couldn't tell you how long it lasted. But the sound of raindrops outside and the cadence of Alicia's sweet, subdued voice lulled him to sleep—the first night he'd slept all the way through, dreamlessly and without waking—since. George wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, fixed, but he was healing.

* * *

Clouds rolled in from overhead, and the distant crack of thunder roared from somewhere far away. The mossy ground of the forest was barely visible, shadowed from the sun by thick branches overhead.

Stan stumbled through the forest as fast as his starved body would carry him. His legs and palms were lacerated from repeatedly tripping and falling on thorny bushes and branches. No matter what the pain was, he continued to run.

Rain started to pour down, clouding his vision and soaking the tattered remains of his clothes. He slipped on the damp paste of browned leaves and needles that covered the forest floor. The rain persisted and his body shook as he continued to travel deeper into the forest.

Stan licked hungrily at the brackish water that pooled in the corners of his mouth. He had drunk nothing for two nights, the two nights he had spent running.

Suddenly, as if hacked off, the trees stopped completely. Stan breathed in the damp, foggy air that surrounded him. Two twin lights were welcoming him, coming closer and closer. He stepped out in front of them and deliriously went to meet them. A horn sounded, but his ears had long ago stopped communicating with his brain. All went black, and Stan slept.

* * *

A/N: Now I really want a warm bagel. Expect a few more passages from George's point of view, especially in the next bit of the story. As always, I hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading, and if you would like you can leave a review after the beep. _Beep_.

* * *

**Sammie**


	14. Quidditch Pro Quo

**Chapter Fourteen  
Quidditch Quo Pro**

Ginny hadn't exactly been lying when she told Hermione everything was fine last Tuesday. Everything she was experiencing just couldn't quite fit into that particular four-letter adjective.

Today was Saturday, a new day, and Ginny had been feeling better. She still had scabs on her face from the crash, but her arm was healed; her broom was on its last leg but otherwise fine; she'd finally gotten over her jet lag, or flying-car-lag rather; she could now figure out her way to most of her classes without being late; and today she was holding Quidditch tryouts for her team. She was by no means perfect, but at least her head was on fairly straight. Maybe it was something in the American air or not being cooped up in the Burrow for weeks on end, but Ginny's mind seemed so much clearer here in the United States.

She gathered up some fresh robes and moved to the girls' bathroom. Even through the stone-thick walls of the school, Ginny heard the distinct rumble of thunder in the distance. After a quick shower—living with at least seven others her whole life had given her that particular talent—she dressed and pulled her hair off her face into a tight ponytail.

Ginny distinctly remembered once, in fifth year, when Harry told her that she looked ready for battle when she wore her hair up. She may have taken that a little too much to heart when she wore her hair up every single day of sixth year. But it seemed fitting she wore it up today too. Right now, Quidditch trials were her next great battle. She hoped she could scrape together a suitable team.

She'd specifically planned tryouts to be early, seven in the morning, to discourage the arrival of those who were only showing up for the gossip. Ginny hadn't thought too many giggling, gossiping, Witch Weekly-reading girls would come at such an early hour. After all they needed their _beauty _sleep.

Ginny trudged down to the Quidditch pitch with Hermione. Even though Hermione hated Quidditch, it was Saturday morning and she wanted to get out of the library anyway, so she decided to do some studying at the pitch. She'd brought her backpack which was bursting at the seams with the heavy books she'd stuffed it with including _Charm Your Goat Legally, The Unabridged History of Magical Bridges, _and _The Archives of Abbey Alver__._

"You do know we're only going to be down here a couple of hours, right?" asked Ginny, eyeing the full bag.

Hermione shrugged. "It's light reading. Abbey Alver's history is a lot shorter than Hogwarts's you see." Ginny didn't bother to point out that "a lot shorter" was still well over two thousand pages.

By the time they reached the pitch, Ginny scanned the sunny horizon to see a crowd of people huddled around the home set of goal posts. Many more than she anticipated. This tryout was critical, for the rest of the season would depend on it.

The morning was chilly. Even though Kansas was warmer than Scotland, it still had cold, dewy mornings. Ginny gave a slight shiver and pulled her Quidditch robes more tightly around herself. Hermione gave her a small shove forward before bolting toward the stands with her book bag trailing behind her.

Ginny ran her fingers through her ponytail and put on her let's-do-this face as she walked toward the chattering crowd.

"Who here is in Gryffindor?" she asked loudly, recognizing about half the faces in the hundred or so that had showed up. Likewise, only a third of the students raised their hands. Two girls collapsed into fits of giggles on the grass. "Now put your hand down if you're a first year. She swore at least half of the kids that put their hands down weren't even eleven yet; there was no way she was that small when she was a first year. "If you don't have your hand raised—_Get_. _Out_."

She pointed toward the castle and a few of the students scampered off. Most meandered toward the stands: if they couldn't try out, they could at least watch and tip off the tabloids about Ginny's emotional imbalances or whatever Skeeter was writing about her these days.

About thirty people were left. Ginny hoped that out of the thirty, she could find six suitable players, and maybe an alternate or two.

"Okay everyone mount your brooms I want two laps around the goalposts!" she called over the loud chattering, whispers, and pointing. After the first lap, she sent at least a dozen packing. She was surprised people would even bother showing up when they couldn't even mount a broomstick properly. They joined Hermione in the stands as well. At least Ginny could ignore their pointing and whispering from her place on the field.

Only twenty people remained, so Ginny decided to continue to individual tryouts. She took groups of three chasers around the field with her and tried to score off whichever keeper was keeping the goal at the moment. She kept her eye on the four beaters even though she was sure she'd end up with Coote and Peakes again; they were fairly good.

Except for Demelza and Ginny, the chasers were all strictly average. John aimed well, but he couldn't catch. Sarah was fast, but she paid more attention to her _Bludger Black _mascara than the actual Bludgers. Jim could maneuver the ball, but he lagged behind Ginny and Demelza.

The last group to tryout consisted of Ginny, Dean, and Romilda Vane. Why Romilda Vane decided to try out, Ginny had no clue. Romilda was always complaining about how boring Quidditch was. But she gave everyone a fair shot, and Romilda hadn't flown too poorly around the goals. At this point it looked like Dean was going to be the new Gryffindor chaser. Ginny didn't know how she felt about that.

A spritely little fourth year with shoulder length hair and glasses that would put even Harry's to shame was keeping. Ginny giggled because she thought he looked slightly like Trelawney if she were a fourteen-year-old boy.

"Okay," Ginny called, kicking off from the ground and soaring to a spot level with the goalposts. "Demelza?" Demelza released the oblong red Quaffle and Ginny caught it. She quickly shot it towards Romilda—Romilda promptly dropped it.

"Sorry," Romilda said, swooping down to retrieve the ball.

When she had returned to the air she threw it in Dean's direction, to put it loosely. Dean swerved and dove for the ball, catching it off the tips of his fingers as he raced forward toward the goal. He threw the ball toward the hoop, a perfect shot—before the keeper caught it. The little guy was actually pretty good. Four shots on goal later, three of which were by Ginny, and she was certain she'd found herself a new keeper.

"Great job!" she said, clapping the bloke on the back as he trudged toward the stands for a break. "What's your name again?"

"Reamer. Johnnie Reamer," the boy said with a huge smile.

That left the seeker.

"Seekers!" she called to the stands, expecting only a few people to stand up. Due to its difficulty, Seeking was the least popular position on the team. To her surprise only one person did. _He better be good_, she thought to herself. She looked closely and saw that it was Dennis Creevey. Definitely not what she considered seeker material.

"Dennis?" she asked as he jumped from the last step and landed on the ground, his feet sinking a few inches in the muddy ground. "You want to try out?"

Dennis shook his head and looked bashfully at the ground. Out of his bag he extracted an old muggle camera. "Actually . . . I was wondering if . . . maybe you needed a photographer? Like to take pictures of the team and stuff?"

Ginny was confused momentarily, but she needed a seeker. "Sure, Dennis, whatever you want," she said dismissively. She scanned the crowd again. "Seekers?"

No one else stepped forward. Ginny could Seek if she had to, but it wasn't her preference, and she was _not_ going to let Romilda Vane take her place as Chaser—the horror.

* * *

George groaned and blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to waking up. Pain shot through his back like he'd been sleeping on the floor all night. He was blearily aware of a tapping on his right ear—or the cavern where his right ear used to be. His hand shot up to the source of the tapping and latched onto a hand. His view came into focus, and a pair of jean-clad legs stared back at him. George sat bolt upright and whipped his head around, rubbing the sleep from his eyes like a small child.

"Ear ye, ear ye!" Alicia croaked. Her voice seemed sore and cracked, like she'd been talking the entire night. "You finally got up. Man can you sleep."

"Ear humor?" George questioned thickly. Alicia's smile drooped. George grinned. "At least you don't completely ignore it like everyone else. It's not like I'm going to cry because you made fun of it. Ears are prime material for jokes, particularly of the self-deprecating variety."

"_Holey_ heavens, you're missing an ear?" Alicia asked.

"Cheese ball," George laughed, rolling his eyes. "You stayed here all night? You didn't have to do that." He stood up and brushed dust off his pants. Then he stuck out his hand and pulled Alicia up as well.

"What is a friend for if not to tell you stories about the time she almost burned down her house trying to brew a potion in her bathtub?" Alicia shrugged.

"Well stay for breakfast I insist," George requested. "We have either day-old bagels, Puking Pastilles, or year-old chicken casserole—take your pick."

Alicia smiled and crinkled up her nose. "I don't think so, George. Besides, I have work to get to. I'll see you around though, okay? Next time Katie and Neville have a date."

"Okay," George said softly. He felt his breath catch slightly in his throat as he leaned his arm against the wall near Alicia's head. "I'll see you around I guess."

"See you," Alicia said turning to leave.

He wasn't sure why, but he wanted Alicia to stick around, at least for a little bit longer. "Wait!" he cried, holding her back by the shoulder. She turned and raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Where are you working now?"

"Oh, er . . ." She looked down at the ground, and her long lashes concealed her eyes. "Well it's embarrassing but, er . . ." George continued to stare at her and she sighed. "Madame Primpernelle's."

George let out a short snort through his nose. "Sounds like somewhere _Lavender Brown_ would work," he stated, referring to his brother's ex-girlfriend. Madame Primpernelle's was notorious for openly telling people how ugly they were in order to gain business for their _beauty _shop.

"Oh she does," Alicia said rolling her eyes and winking. "It's just to pay the bills, okay? I wouldn't if I didn't have to."

George shrugged, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's not my problem." He opened the door to let her out. Judging by the dark color of the sky and the nippy air, they hadn't seen the end of this rainstorm.

"Skiving Snackboxes," she said randomly. George raised his eyebrows. "The Skiving Snackboxes were your idea. I remember."

Alicia gave him one last lingering glance before she turned and began her journey down the street. George couldn't help but watch her the whole way down. When she finally turned left and her brown curls whipped out of sight, he stooped low to pick up the paper and went back upstairs.

* * *

"Lenka . . . _Lenka _. . . Leeeeeenkaaaa," Ron said. He was lying on the bed on his back, with his head tilting down to face Harry who was sitting cross-legged against the wall.

"Yeah, I don't know," said Harry, throwing a bit of cardboard he'd ripped off a box at Ron. Ron caught it. "Who says she's a human? Maybe she's a dragon."

"Charlie's in love with a dragon? You think?" Ron asked with a slight smirk and shrug. "It seems a little far-fetched, but I wouldn't put it past him. He was the one that found out Norberta was a girl."

"Hey, do you think we should check on George? He seemed upset," Harry questioned, uncrossing his legs. Light streamed through the eastern windows of the flat, nearly blinding him.

"If he wasn't fine, we would hear it," Ron said, whipping his blood-red face up and scooting around to face Harry again. "For that matter who says she's a girl?"

"Lenka is a girl's name," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah well," Ron pondered. "Maybe he _or_ she is a tranny."

"So you think Charlie's in love with a now-male transvestite dragon named Lenka?" Harry asked with a snort. "Now _that _seems a little far-fetched, even for Charlie."

"Hey guys, come here," George called stonily. He slammed the _Daily Prophet_ down on the coffee table next to the lone loveseat that was the flat's living room. Harry and Ron appeared from the bedroom to see what the fuss was about. George twisted the newspaper to face them so that they could read the front-page headline:

**STAN SHUNPIKE, 23, FOUND DEAD September 19, 1998 **_Noted conductor of the Knight Bus and former Slytherin, Stanley Silas Shunpike, was found dead at approximately two fifteen this morning on Tenning Road in Scotland. He was found wandless and without any other sort of baggage on his person. Stan appears to have died from being struck, but lack of food and water may have contributed to a delirium that caused the death. Upon closer inspection of the body, authorities have found giant lacerations on the back, possibly due to whipping. It isn't yet clear what Shunpike was doing in Scotland, but authorities are investigating the matter further. _Edgar Rigolo, Daily Prophet Reporter

Harry sighed and flipped the paper to the trash, noticing his own face on the back as it fluttered down toward the rubbish bin.

"Blimey," Ron mused. "I never knew Stan was a Slytherin."

"That's what you pulled from this?" Harry asked incredulously. "Stan's dead, Ron!"

"And further more, he was found on Tenning Road," George said. After a few questioning glances, he explained himself: "Tenning Road is about fifty or so miles from Hogwarts. It runs around the north end of the Forbidden Forest."

"How do you—" Ron began.

"Lee, Fred, and I might have stumbled across it when we took one of Hagrid's hippogriffs, er _Featherdash_, for a midnight joy ride." George chuckled slightly.

"What was Stan doing in the Forbidden Forest? Wasn't he supposed to be in Azkaban?" Harry pondered aloud. "There's something going on at Hogwarts that they're keeping hushed up."

"But all the innocent prisoners were broken out," George said, sparking a far-off memory in the back of Harry's brain. "Do you think they're hiding out in the Forbidden Forest or something? But that wouldn't explain the whipping. . ."

The all-too-familiar feeling of dread trickled through Harry's body. He didn't want to have to be the one to figure things out anymore. Harry would leave this problem to the authorities. He realized with a pang, that he was_ part_ of that group people called "the authorities" now.

* * *

Ginny felt like an eleven-year-old kid again. She was going to a new school away from her family, and the same bout of nervousness and vulnerability overtook her that she'd had her first year at Hogwarts. She decided to do the same thing she had done in her first year to assuage her new-school jitters. No, she didn't pore out her trepidations in Tom Riddle's horcrux diary. Instead, she wrote a very long letter to the most understanding of her brothers—the one that had moved across the continent when he was only seventeen and probably felt the same way then that she felt now.

_Hey Charlie,_

_It's Ginny. Just writing to say hello. I kind of feel like this is first year all over again with Abbey Alver and moving across the ocean and whatnot, so I thought I might write you again, like I did when I was eleven. Before Mum or Dad or anyone gets all worried, I'm fine. I've only managed to get myself into one bad Quidditch accident, mostly due to my stupid competitiveness and my gosh-darned rickety old Cleansweep._

_As for school itself, it's going fine . . . I guess. That's a horrid adjective, fine. All the teachers are pushing us to focus on our career, and I feel like to only person who doesn't know what I want to do with my life after this. I mean you knew, right? You went to Romania the summer after school ended. And Harry and Ron know they want to be Aurors. And it was Fred and George's ambition to run a joke shop for the longest time. Me? I have no clue. And there are N.E.W.T.'s to worry about as well. Those stupid tests will be the death of me._

_Our teachers are the same old news. Slughorn complains about coming out of retirement three years after the fact; Flitwick can tell that by seventh year we either give a care about charms or we don't, so he teaches Hermione while the rest of us talk all class; and I took up Muggle Studies just to waste an hour or two a week—it's not as, er, intellectually challenging as I expected, heh, heh. We do have American teachers for DADA and Transfiguration. Professor Scamander is a bit eccentric, and I'm not sure he really wants to be a transfiguration professor. He's pretty young—actually I think Luna Lovegood might have eyes for him. . . And Professor Maddox, she teaches Defense. She's exactly like McGonagall except younger and a bit kinder when we screw up._

_Speaking of McGonagall, she's been acting strange lately. She's been really unconfident. I noticed it over the summer too, but I thought she was just nervous because she's a first-time headmistress. I wonder what's going on._

_Quidditch trials were this afternoon. Everything went fine. I've kept Coote and Peakes as beaters, and added some fourth year named Johnnie Reamer as keeper. He's pretty good—not as good as Ron though. I've chosen Demelza and Dean to be Chasers. I'm not too excited about having Dean on the team, but he did try out the best, and he works well with Demelza and me. That leaves a Seeker. I know Oliver Wood has a little brother-cousin-nephew-something-or-other that's a first year, but I don't know whether he'd be interested in playing. I suppose I could play Seeker if I have to, but it's not my best position._

_Tell everyone I love you from me. By the way, everyone's curious to know who Lenka is. Did you honestly think we weren't going to find out about your secret lover eventually? It's okay, Charlie, honestly._

_Lots of Love,  
Ginny Weasley_

Giving the note a small kiss, Ginny folded it and stuffed it into an envelope. She searched the room for Demelza, to see if she could borrow Shou, Demelza's owl, but her gaze landed upon Dean Thomas sitting in the chair across from her. Her heart gave a start and her letter slipped out of her hand and fluttered to the floor. She slid her foot out to catch it, but Dean was quicker. He snatched the letter off of the ground.

"Charlie?" he asked, looking at the name messily scrawled on the back of the envelope.

"Yes, Charlie," Ginny said, snatching her letter back. She bit her tongue when the words came out harsher than she'd expected.

"Not Harry?" Dean asked. Ginny had no clue where the conversation was headed, but she wasn't feeling optimistic. She'd learned long ago that Dean could always find something to complain about.

"No," she said. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"I just thought that you'd want to write Harry—since he is your _boyfriend_ and all," Dean said casually.

"And Charlie is my _brother_," Ginny returned, licking the gluey part of the envelope and sealing it shut. "You know, jealousy isn't subtle. It's one of the things I—never mind." She didn't want to get in a fight with Dean, especially when she only had six Quidditch players as it stood now.

"You what?" Dean asked. The damage had been done.

Ginny sighed. "You know what, Dean? We're not dating anymore. I don't have to tell you anything if I don't want to. I thought that maybe we could be friendly, not best friends merely friendly, but obviously you have some things to work out, and I don't think we can."

Dean looked up at her, his attitude changing almost instantly. "Wait, you thought we were friends?"

"Well yeah," Ginny shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear. She slid back to a more comfortable position on her chair. "I know we didn't leave on the best of terms but . . ."

"You broke up with me because you thought I pushed you," Dean said a moment later. "For the record, I didn't."

Ginny giggled. "I was kind of a prat, wasn't I?"

"Just a bit. You were only fifteen though," Dean said smiling. A few minutes of silence passed and Dean spoke again. "It's weird coming back at eighteen."

Ginny nodded. She tucked her knees up close to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "It's weird being in America in the first place."

"My mum thinks I've screwed up but . . . I'm on your side, Gin," said Dean solemnly.

Ginny cringed when he said "Gin." She didn't mind when her family or Harry said it, but when it rolled off of his tongue it felt forced.

"Do you remember the DA meeting we had last year?" Dean asked. Ginny nodded. Dean had only gotten the chance to go to one meeting before he was forced to go into hiding. "Do you remember what you said?" Dean waited a few moments, but Ginny didn't respond. She wracked her brain for something she might have said to Dean that would be pertinent to the conversation they were having. His words all seemed random and scattered to her. "You said that Snape was a work of evil, and the next time you saw him you wanted him hung from a rope with the word "traitor" written all over him. That's what I did. For you. You said if that happened, whoever was responsible would be your best friend."

Ginny felt her chest give a lurch. "That was you?" she managed to eek out in a husky voice. She thought she was going to explode, not with anger but disbelief. "Why did you do that? I thought it was the Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters? He was on their side, Ginny." Dean spluttered.

"Why. Did. You. Do. That?" Ginny asked again, gripping the arms of her chair. "Snape had a lot of enemies, and you should know that I don't always mean everything I say."

"To prove that I'm not a total fuckup like everyone thinks I am!" Dean cried tersely. "Especially my mother. She thinks it was a big mistake, breaking up with you."

"Well you really screwed up this time!" Ginny retorted, launching herself off of the chair and over to the other side of the room.

She wondered what Dean's mother had said to make him so irascible and irresponsible. He was being more extreme than Harry. She wondered why Dean had a sudden interest in her love life. And most of all she wondered why, the day she had decided she wasn't going to be a sad, pitiful mess anymore, all kinds drama got loaded on her plate.

"Is everything all right, Ginny?" Romilda asked, coming up from behind and giving Ginny a pat on the back. She also wondered why Romilda Vane, queen of the vain, was being nice to her.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh no! Ginny doesn't have a Seeker. I hit a bit of a wall with this chapter. So did Dean—I had no earthly idea how to incorporate that bit with Dean. I have the whole story planned out except for a few spots, and this is one of them. Hopefully we get to a point where I know what's going down soon. Happy fourth of July. As always, I'll encourage you to leave a review if you want. I don't bite unless there's a full moon out.

* * *

**Sammie**


	15. Dropping A Cannon

**Chapter Fifteen  
Dropping A Cannon**

As he strutted through the atrium in his Weasley jumper, Ron couldn't help but feel like a child. The jumper was too small, and he kept pulling it down to avoid exposing his stomach. It was maroon too. You'd think after seventeen Christmases, his mum would think to knit him another color, but no—he _always _got maroon.

Eventually Ron found his way to the minister's office—he'd only had to stop for directions three times. Harry was standing outside the minister's door clutching his wand and looking very nervous. Apparently he was also oblivious as to why Kingsley wanted to have a private meeting with the both of them.

Harry nodded his head toward the partially opened door, and Ron moved forward to peek briefly inside. Kingsley was inside, of course, pacing in front of his fireplace, and holding a murmured conversation with the obscured head floating in the flames.

Ron looked back up at Harry who shrugged and mouthed, "I don't know."

After a few more paces back and forth in front of the fire, Kingsley glanced up and waved Ron and Harry inside. Before Ron could catch a glimpse at the head in the fire, it disappeared and was replaced by orange tongues, gently crackling. Kingsley gestured again to three chairs in front of his diagonally situated desk, and Ron took the one in the middle, Harry sat to his left.

Kingsley looked worn out in the same way all ministers did, Ron supposed. Since he had taken up the post temporarily—although Arthur swore it would be official come next election—Kingsley had grown a full set of wrinkles, dark baggy eyelids, and a scraggly grey beard that was the product of on too many too-tired-to-shave nights.

Kingsley cleared his throat and spoke in his unremittingly authoritative voice. "Potter, Weasley," he nodded to the both of them in turn. "I'm just going to get right to it. I'm pulling you out of Auror training."

"What?" Ron burst out involuntarily and probably unwisely. He felt Harry grab his forearm against the arm of the chair but continued, "I know I'm not the best at incarcerating jinxes, but I've been practicing!" He had been working really hard on _Incarcerous. _It wasn't fair for Kingsley to kick them out just because the trainers were idiots who needed to be told the wand's tip from it's handle before allowing for spell casting.

Kingsley let the corners of his mouth turn up a bit, and he showed his teeth.

"What are you smiling about?" Ron spluttered. "I've worked hard on _Incarcerous!" _On cue, ropes shot out of the wand Ron hadn't realized he'd drawn and bound their way around a rubbish bin under Kingsley's desk. "Sorry," Ron murmured, feeling his cheeks burn red.

Kingsley's smile turned into a very faint smirk as he removed the ropes. "You're misunderstanding me, Ron," he said. "We've been squeezing the life out of our Aurors all summer, trying to catch Death Eaters, attempting to sort out the ministry, and trying to locate the innocent Azkaban prisoners.

"We've gotten leads, but they're leading us down paths not taken because we don't have the staffing for it. There aren't a lot of people that trust the Ministry these days, even with our small victories, so recruiting has been slim, borderline nonexistent. Small victories can't win over all of Britain.

"I'm offering you—Harry, Ron—the chance to get out of that god-awful Auror training program and join the Auror force immediately. You'd get full-salary of course, and we already have jobs lined up for the both of you."

Before Ron even had a chance to think about Kingsley's offer Harry spoke up. "Of course, Minister," Kingsley's mouth twitched toward a smile at the word "minister." "Whatever you need. And honestly, that Auror training program was awful. I don't honestly care if my Deprimo Charm is perfect if I'm using it to break something in battle."

Kingsley looked understanding enough. Ron was still processing the information. Unlike Harry, he couldn't commit to something as big as becoming an Auror at the drop of a quill.

"The training program has been that way for centuries, when there were only a smattering of spells to use when dueling. Back then it was essential to get everything perfect. Now, not so much. I'd warn you to think with your head, Potter, not with your wand, but you already know that, don't you?"

Ron was barely listening to the rest of their conversation. He was still contemplating whether or not he would accept Kingsley's offer. Kingsley seemed to notice Ron's reservations when he glanced at him a few minutes later. It was a strange sensation for Ron to contemplate. Before Kingsley had offered them positions, there had been no doubt in his mind that he wanted to be an Auror. He'd taken the classes, started the course. For heavens sake, he'd even played a role in . . . well—

Now that Kingsley had made it official, so to speak, Ron felt himself become uneasy. It wasn't commitment that was the problem, not even when he'd left Hermione in the tent last year—oh God, he wished he hadn't done that. But it had never been that he couldn't make the commitment. It was the insecurity that led him astray. It was hard for Ron to admit that he was very insecure. The pressure seeped into him and told him he wasn't good enough, that he was going to fail, that he was just the sixth child. He still had to overcome that trepidation. He wouldn't let himself be just the "sixth child."

"Right, well," Kingsley closed, folding his hands together on his desk. "The offer still stands. I'm not forcing you to make any rash decisions. Let's just leave it hanging. Just know that the team we've got assembled now is pulling out all the stops just to make ends meet."

"What kind of jobs can we expect if we take the job?" Ron asked suddenly.

"The forest for one thing. I'm sure you've heard," Kingsley said, referring to the news article they had read just last week. Stan Shunpike's death had been a surprise to everyone it seemed. He was the conductor of the Knight Bus: as unglorified of a job as it sounded, everyone knew who he was. "I can't say that much without your commitment, but we'd need a team for the forest."

"And then there's Turpin," the minister continued. Ron's heart skipped an unpleasant beat at the mention of Turpin, the Imperioused Auror that had caused so much trouble in Australia. "It's all been hushed up thanks to the bloody _Prophet_, but Turpin has been missing for quite a long time. We have men searching for him, but he's not exactly top priority right now. Again, I can't really tell you all that much unless we've got the contracts drawn and signed."

Kingsley shrugged. If anything, mention of what jobs they might be sent on made Ron queasier about the whole thing.

Ron jammed his thumb into the lift and pressed the down arrow several times. When the grill gates slid slowly open Ron shoved his way past a little old witch with a lime green hat to the back of the lift.

He breathed slowly in and out.

"You okay, mate?" Harry voice drifted through his head. It sounded distant against his ears, like Harry was talking over the telegnome or whatever the blasted muggle device was called.

"Fine," Ron said. He continued to pound his finger into the plastic number four, urging the lift to go faster: he hated lifts.

When the grilles finally slid open on his father's floor Ron shoved his way out, leaving Harry behind. Ron always visited his dad after Auror lessons. He wasn't living with Mum and Dad anymore, but they still liked to keep in touch.

"Ron, m'dear boy!" Arthur said cheerfully when Ron reached the open door of his office. Ron trotted confusedly into the office, steered by Arthur's hand. "I've got someone here that wants to see you!"

Ron turned inside the office—larger than Arthur's previous—and came face to face with Ragmar Dorkins, a very large, very hairy, and very harried looking man. "You're the manager of the Chudley Cannons!" Ron pointed out. "I've always wanted to meet you!" He shook the man's large hand in his own.

"I know," replied Dorkins, licking his lips. Ron glanced over to Arthur who was positively beaming from ear to ear. "I came here to talk to you about an open Quidditch position we need to fill."

"A Quidditch position?" Ron asked nervously. "Harry's already gone home I think."

"I don't need a seeker I need a keeper," Dorkins said, licking his lips a second time. "And by the looks of things right now, you might just be in the running. That is, if you want to play for us?"

* * *

"Sit," she said forcefully, waving her wand once. A chair came flying and knocked the back of Ron's legs out from under him. "Drink," she commanded, slamming a mug of thick, dark, sweet-smelling liquid in front of him. She fumbled around in the cabinet above Ron and pulled out a small vial of brown powder. She shook it over Ron's drink and pushed it toward him. He took a deep sip of the hot chocolate and realized Fleur had added cinnamon—it was a nice touch.

"When will Bill be home?" Ron asked his sister-in-law.

"Around five," Fleur said, glancing at her watch. It was only four now. "What brings you here?"

"Work," Ron sighed. Fleur smiled understandingly, even though Ron was sure she'd never held a job in her life."I wanted to ask you about commitment," he admitted, attempting to see his reflection in his hot chocolate.

"Commitment?" Fleur asked. Her eyes shot to her wedding ring, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Ron. She twisted the diamond around on her finger and stared deeply at him. After a while she said, "Aren't you and Hermione a leetle young to be thinking about such a big commitment?"

"What?" Ron spluttered. "Hermione and I would never—we're not thinking about—Hermione doesn't want—I told you I came here about work!"

"Right," Fleur said smiling mischievously. "What about work?"

"What are you still laughing about?" Ron demanded.

"Your reaction. She may deny it, but she wants the marriage, and the house, and the kids eventually."

"Stop it, Fleur!" Ron said, feeling slightly nauseous. "We're still teenagers. We haven't even—stop getting me off topic!"

"So why do you want to talk to me about commitment?" Fleur asked. She leaned over on the countertop and drummed her fingers across her cheek. "What makes _me _more committed than Percy or George or Bill or Charlie or Molly or Harry?"

"The Triwizard Tournament," Ron stated bluntly. "That was a big commitment."

"Indeed eet was," Fleur said softly. She took up her own chair across the counter from him.

"How did you find the courage to commit? Even after you didn't finish the second task," Ron asked. He took another sip of hot chocolate. He placed the mug back on the liquid-brown semicircle that had formed on the countertop.

Fleur thought a minute before answering. "Fear," she said, and then explained, "it was fear zat kept me going. All of Barty Crouch's poppycock about the rules and what would happen if they were broken scared me into competing. If course it was all baloney: four champions in the _tri_wizard tournament. Bollocks!"

Ron grinned. "But the goblet chose four, so it four _must_ compete!"

"Overdressed piece of tableware," she muttered under her breath. "So what are you 'aving trouble committing to?"

Ron explained to her about Kingsley offering Auror positions to him and Harry. Fleur gasped, "_C'est magnifique_!" Then he explained about the uncertain position that might be opening up on the Chudley Cannons team. "_C'est incroyable_!" He told her how he absolutely didn't know what to do. An Auror would be the more honorable thing to do, but becoming a Cannon, orange and black, well, it would be more than a dream come true.

"And the position on the Quidditch team isn't final?" she asked.

Ron shook his head. "With the Auror position I could start next week. Kingsley already has jobs lined up, contracts drawn up, and all I have to do is sign on the dotted line. To become a Cannon, a lot of things would have to go right, but I—"

"Well which job would you rather hold?" Fleur asked.

_Cannons, _Ron thought immediately. "I don't know," he said. "I've worked harder to become an Auror than I have to become a Quidditch player. I think I would make a more useful Auror, but . . ."

Fleur's enigmatic smile frustrated Ron. Why wouldn't she just tell him what to do?

* * *

Arthur cut two equal slices of the still-warm brownies he'd just pulled out of the oven and put them on two small plates. He levitated the plates over to the table and set one in front of Molly, who was leaning on her elbows and looking out the window at the giant oak tree in the side-yard of the Burrow.

"What's the matter?" he asked gently. She pulled her eyes from the scene and back to her husband.

"Nothing's the matter," she said softly. "I'm perfectly happy."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked again. "Because you only gaze longingly at the oak tree if something is bothering you."

Molly sighed. She summoned a fork and cut a small piece off of the brownie. "Not bad," she said, complimenting his baking—for once, their roles were reversed. "Is it wrong of me to want them back now?" she asked. "I was the one that wanted them to leave in the first place."

"I don't think so," Arthur said soothingly. "It's kind of like postpartum depression, I suppose. Post-children depression."

"Look though!" she said, untucking a strand of hair from her bun and letting it fall in front of her shoulder. "Grey. I'm not even fifty yet, and I already have grey hair!"

"Plenty of women have grey hair far before they're fifty, Molly," Arthur explained. "That tiny strand of greys doesn't make you any less angelic."

Molly shrugged off the compliment, but she secretly liked the fact that Arthur never used the same adjective twice to describe her. Magnificent, stunning, statuesque, or breathtaking, Arthur would always switch it up, and it consistently made her feel better.

"Are you sure I'm not a tragic mother?" Molly fished.

"Never," Arthur said grabbing her hand and rubbing it with his thumb.

"But only three of our kids have graduated school. And I worry about them: Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione especially. They're so young, yet they've experienced more deaths than the two of us, Arthur. I don't want them to crack from all the pressure. And my jumpers! Merlin's pants, my jumpers! I've got at least seven more to knit before Christmas. And—"

Molly poured her heart out to Arthur. All of the worries she'd worried a million times over, she told him. He was like a human pensieve, draining her of all her worries.

Being the heads of the family they created, Arthur and Molly strived to seem impavid when their children were around. But when they were with each other they always shared their fears, which were generally the same ones they'd had even back when they were in their twenties, before they had kids. It was curious how their scenarios could be so different, then and now, yet their fears remained the same.

"And I'm a murderer, Arthur," Molly said quietly. The words felt thick.

"No you're not," Arthur replied. "You just . . ."

"I killed her, Arthur. What does that make me? A murderer," she said answering her own question.

* * *

George hurried across the street toward the lurid shop in the middle of Diagon Alley. He barely avoided getting run over by a runaway cart driven by talking jack-o-lanterns. Even though it was still September, Diagon Alley was already preparing for Halloween.

He was going to visit Alicia at work. He had a new idea for the shop that he was dying to share with her.

In the front window of Madame Primpernelle's shop, three manikins were standing with their stick-straight hair, thousand-galleon robes, and blindingly white smiles. They were in the middle of a heated argument about the best acne-removing potion.

"Hey shut it!" a voice yelled from inside, prying two of the manikins off of each other. "Your job is to look pretty!"

George smirked and opened the bright purple door to go inside. He was hit with garish colors, a wall of intoxicating perfumes, and Lavender Brown rushing up to him, looking like she might be sick.

"Welcome to Madame Primpernelle's," she said in a monotone voice. "Where we know all the beauty tips and tricks that take you from fab to fab-u-lous." She waggled her hands in the air and rolled her eyes. "How may I assist you today, sir?"

George smirked. He hadn't seen Lavender Brown in years. Not that he was ever a friend of hers, but it was different to see a fellow Gryffindor out and about these days, even if it was Ron's ex-snogging partner.

"Shut up!" she yelled exasperatedly at the manikins again. "Dirty tarts," she muttered. George didn't tell her that was exactly what Ron had called _her_ for weeks after they broke up. "Sorry, George. What do you need?"

"Er, is Alicia here?" he asked.

"Alicia Spinnet? No. Why—"

"LAVENDER!" a voice screeched. Lavender turned and George peered over her shoulder to see a middle-aged, harlequin women bustling toward them. She was wearing so much makeup it was almost funny. "I thought I told you to cover up that wretched thing!" she jerked Lavender forward by the front of her robes and did up a few more buttons.

"Hello," the lady said nauseatingly, pushing Lavender gruffly aside and stepping toward George. "I'm Madame Primpernelle. Have you been helped?"

"Lav was just helping me," George said, uncertain of what she would do next.

"Good. Well she'd better get back to work. I don't appreciate her lagging. Miss Brown can explain to you our _options_ for . . . _maimed_ customers." She slid her blood-red fingernails down the side of George's face and around the dark part of his ear. He pulled his hair down to cover it and grimaced.

"Come on," Lavender said, pulling George's arm and leading him out the door in front of the shop. "What's up?"

"Geez, Primpernelle's a—"

"I know," Lavender said, undoing the buttons on her robes that Madame Primpernelle had done up. "She's also my Aunt's cousin, so watch it!" She grinned.

George looked to see what it was that was so important Lavender cover up. There was a deep gash across her chest that George recognized. "Greyback?" he asked. The gash was nearly identical to the ones Bill had across his face.

Lavender nodded sadly. "Could you maybe thank Hermione for saving my life? I would but . . ." The words lingered in the air: a mutual understanding. "About Alicia?" she asked seconds later.

"Oh yeah," George said, perking up. "What days does she work here? I need to tell her something."

Lavender looked confused. "Alicia doesn't work here."

"What do you mean?" George asked. His heart beat quickly in surprise. "She told me she was working here for some quick cash."

Lavender shook her head. "I'm sorry George, but she lied to you. She works at Ollivander's with Ollvander's great-great-nephew or something, Ondre."

"Now why didn't she tell me that herself?" George asked aloud, to no one in particular.

* * *

Ginny wrapped the towel firmly around her body and squeezed her elbows toward her stomach so it would stay put. After practice, the locker rooms down at the Quidditch Pitch were usually full: sharing one pitch among eight teams meant doubling up during practice times. Since Demelza, Hermione, Tessie, and Irene all had Quidditch-Prefect-Head Girl commitments in the evenings most weeknights, Ginny usually bolted upstairs to the girls' washrooms to take advantage of the rare moments of alone time.

As she was showering today, she listed in her head possible contenders for the available Gryffindor Seeker position. As it turned out, Oliver Wood's first year cousin-nephew-brother was actually sorted into Hufflepuff, the little bugger, so he couldn't play on the house team even if he wanted. There was always Romilda Vane, but she was strictly last-resort material.

Ginny ruffled through her things for some bedclothes when she felt eyes resting on her. She glanced up and nearly jumped out of her skin. Harry was sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing his trademark amused expression on his face. "Nice tattoo," he said. Ginny had almost forgotten about the tiny, red Chinese Fireball she'd gotten on her right shoulder blade the day she convinced Harry to get a Hippogriff. Charlie had always said she reminded him of the Chinese Fireball—Ginny didn't know if that was a compliment or a terrible attempt at an insult, but regardless, she had one on her back now.

"See this is why they don't let boys in the girls' dormitories!" she cried, tightening her towel and lobbing a spare trainer in his direction. She let a small grin slip out.

"Ow!" he cried when the trainer connected with some part of him. "Your Quidditch arm has gotten strong! And don't worry, if anything happened, your mum would kill me faster than I could tell her hello."

"How did you get up here?" Ginny asked. "Doesn't the staircase turn into a slide or something? You can't Apparate can you?"

Harry shook a bag of pink powder. "This came in handy." It was the fireless floo powder Ginny had gotten him for his birthday. She grinned in spite of herself.

"You really should tell me when you're going to show up though. You never know who might be up here," she said. Harry grinned mischievously. "So what have you been up to?"

He sighed and told her everything: all about moving out and his problems with the Auror training program. She shouted when he announced he was going to be promoted to a full-time Auror by this time next week. He said he had reservations—he was still god-awful at potions—but Kingsley assured him that all of his jobs would be with a team, so he could leave the potion-making to someone else.

Harry also informed Ginny about Stan Shumpike's death. That hit her pretty hard; she hadn't known Stan well, but the fact that he died outside of the Forbidden Forest definitely piqued her interest. Did that have something to do with them going to school in America?

When they were finished catching each other up—Ginny told Harry everything about school in America: Quidditch, classes, Muggle Studies—they were interrupted by the arrival of Hermione, Demelza, Irene, and Tessie who all looked on the verge of giggles about something.

"Look what just came in the mail, Gin!" Irene said, tossing something heavy on the end of Ginny's bed. She leapt from sitting against the headboard to see what it was. It was Rita Skeeter's new book, _Harry, A History. _Large, pink, and depicting a puerilely fake picture of Harry and Ginny intertwined on the front, the book made Ginny crack up.

"Want to look inside?" Tessie asked leaping on the bed. "Harry!" she cried seconds later. In her amusement, she hadn't noticed Harry. "Wow, it's Harry Potter. You've been all over our papers lately."

"Probably," Harry said smirking.

"You're a lot more handsome in person," Irene gushed. "In all the pictures in the tabloids you look pissed."

"Wait, I don't drink that much!" said Harry confusedly.

"Pissed means irked here," Hermione said coming over to give Harry a hug. They all moved to the floor to look at the book. Ginny couldn't help but notice that Hermione looked a little sad.

"Let's see then," Ginny said grabbing the book from off of the bed and going to join everyone else. She tossed the book to Hermione who turned to a random page near the middle and began to read aloud.

"Some may say Potter was headed toward the dark side at an early age. 'He always was closer to Moody than the others,' says fellow student Pansy Parkinson about Potter's relationship with Bartemius Crouch Junior, then posing as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and renowned ex-Auror Mad Eye Moody. 'Harry knew how to throw off the Imperious Curse and everything. He was also a parselmouth. I heard You-Know-Who was a parselmouth.'

"Yes, dear readers, Harry Potter is indeed one of the rare few who have the ability to communicate with snakes, just another similarity shared with the Dark Lord," Hermione paused. Ginny stifled a fit of giggles.

"Stop it!" Harry joked. "Clearly my ability to communicate with snakes makes me Riddle's sidekick." Ginny laughed again.

"Wait, can you?" Hermione asked, slamming the book shut.

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well since the bit of Voldemort that was inside of you is gone, can you still talk to snakes?" she asked. Irene and Tessie looked utterly perplexed. "Irene, can you draw a snake for Harry?"

Irene was obviously confused, but in seconds she produced a pretty accurate drawing of a snake and handed the parchment to Harry.

"Don't look," Harry said in embarrassment. Everyone looked away, but Ginny was intrigued. She hadn't ever seen Harry speak to snakes before. He stared at the parchment for a long time, relaxing his throat muscles or whatever talking to snakes required. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He adjusted his glasses and crumpled up the parchment scrap. "I can't anymore," he said blandly. He shrugged. "That's weird."

After reading a few more passages Harry led Ginny to the landing outside the girls' dormitory.

"You're coming to the Quidditch match in three weeks, right?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"What Quidditch match?" Harry joked. Ginny shoved him softly. "October tenth, I won't forget."

"Make sure Ron comes too, okay?" Ginny asked. "Hermione's been looking wistful."

"Wistful? It's been what, a month? They've had fights longer than that," Harry asked.

"I don't know, Harry," Ginny said. "Hermione's used to being around you two all the time. She's lonely around little old me."

"If you insist," Harry said.

"You should also know that you're the worst gift-giver ever," Ginny said. "And I'm still not over you giving me that _thing,_" she said, referring to the diary. "I would be angrier, but I've decided I'm not getting upset anymore. I've run out of upset."

"Oh?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "We'll see how long that lasts," he muttered. Ginny used her shoulder to give him a shove to the chest. "Apparently only seconds," he said with a slight laugh.

"You're infuriating!" Ginny exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. Harry caught her around her middle and gave her a long hug and tilted her head up toward his before he threw his floo powder on the ground and disappeared.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked later, when Ginny crawled into her bed.

Ginny propped her elbow on her pillow and rested her head on her hand. "Yes?"

"Skeeter says Harry proposed to you the night he ran off? But you said no? Is that true?" she whispered.

"Er . . . ugh," Ginny replied, not really knowing how to phrase her answer.

* * *

A/N: Anyone who doesn't use the interjection "Merlin's Pants!" at least once in their lifetime must be a death eater. You won't see me, and I won't see you, but hopefully if you've made it this far you'll read the next chapter, so until next time . . . and I'd like to know what you think, maybe a review? Thank you!

* * *

**Sammie**


	16. Potential Patterns

**Chapter Sixteen  
Potential Patterns **

September departed and the encumbrances of summer left with it, leaving Abbey Alver in an upheaval of colder weather, colorful leaves, and the more urgent reminder that N.E.W.T.'s were just over the horizon.

It was a pattern, Hermione noticed. When the weather got colder, the students spent more of their time inside. When teenagers spent too much time in such close proximity to one another they tended to get boisterous. When Madame Pince could no longer stand the amount of noise in the library, she would talk to the teachers. The professors would slyly send out fair warning that exams were around the corner and, fittingly, produce a mountain of homework. Even Hermione didn't like this much homework. And between homework and Ginny's nightly Quidditch practices, Hermione hardly got to spend any time with her best friend anymore.

Ginny had travelled through hell and high water just to scrape together a team. As far as Hermione knew—and she didn't know much considering Quidditch was the pitfall of her knowledge—Ginny already had six very solid, well-rounded players. Her only problem was the seventh player: the seeker. Hermione had spent many a History of Magic class brainstorming how Ginny could scrape up a seventh player, but there was absolutely no one that wanted to fill Harry's shoes as seeker. Apparently it was a common problem, as Oliver Wood had had enough trouble finding Harry. It looked like Romilda Vane was going to be the new chaser and Ginny the seeker.

Hermione heard her name being called and immediately her gaze shot up toward the front of the class. She felt Ginny poke her firmly in the ribs, and snicker as Hermione ruffled her papers and turned red with embarrassment.

"Hermione?" Professor Maddox asked, looking confused.

"Sorry," Hermione said, extracting her wand from her robes and raising it as if to perform a spell. With her left hand she pulled her quill out from under her things. "I'm so sorry," she repeated with a fluster. She'd never gotten caught not paying attention. "Sorry sorry sorry. Can you repeat that?"

Professor Maddox sat on the edge of her desk facing the class. Her feet were swaying back and forth and the heels of her shoes were rhythmically hitting the wood of the desk with each swing. She shifted her weight to her hands and smiled. "I was just wondering if you'd enlighten us as to why the Polyjuice potion isn't always a hundred percent accurate when trying to act as another."

Hermione's cheeks burned again. She'd had far too many encounters with the Polyjuice potion in her nineteen years to not answer this question correctly. "Well for one thing, the potion will only be as accurate as the moment you take the bit of the person from them. For example, if I took a lock of your hair a year ago, and then you went and lost an arm; then I drank the potion, I would become a version of you from a year ago. My emulation of you would have an arm, but you wouldn't and people would notice, causing the potion to be faulty."

"Correct," she said. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Hermione tried to hide the grin that formed across her lips every time she got an answer right.

Margot Maddox jumped off the desk and clapped her hands together once. "All right, I want eight inches on my desk by Friday on the pros and cons of the Polyjuice Potion in defensive situations and practice _Protego Horribilis. _It's an important spell and I want you all to be able to perform—never mind."

At that point everyone was already packed up and on his or her way to the door, not paying a lick of attention to her. Hermione was not an exception. She had been itching all day to get out of class and go visit Hagrid whom she hadn't seen for months now.

On their way down to Abbey Alver's lawn, Hermione walked a few paces behind Ginny and Luna. She only caught snipits of their conversation, but she overheard enough to know they were talking about George. Harry had mentioned something about moving with Ron and George back above the shop. While Hermione didn't know all the details, she imagined that it would be a tough move for all of them, George in particular.

Hermione caught the large wooden door of the entrance hall and pushed it roughly out. For its size, it was surprisingly lightweight. The three girls walked in a group down the stone front steps and followed the twisted paths around the trees and through the windy autumn air. The leaves were turning and beginning to fall, and the wind blew briskly. From September to December was Hermione's favorite time of the year, a bit unfortunate that the only part of the year she enjoyed was the end.

They stopped at the end of the path, staring at a large, gold and blue stagecoach that Hermione recognized almost instantly.

"Hagrid?" called Ginny loudly.

Emerging from behind the coach, and carrying two large birds the size of first years tusked under each of his arms, came Hagrid. As tall as one and a half grown men and as wide as three, the half giant towered over them. A grin splayed across his face.

" 'Ermione! Ginny! Luna!" he said brightly, bounding toward them, dabbing beads of sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve. He set the two birds down at his feet. They rustled their feathers impatiently. "Go on now, get!" he hollered at them as he herded them back to an enclosed area by the stagecoach. "Dang turkeys."

"How have you been, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, peering behind him at the pen. It contained at least forty of the birds.

"Good, ex'llent. Tea?" he led them up the steps of the carriage.

"Is this Madame Maxime's?" Luna asked as they entered it. Hagrid grunted; Hermione supposed that meant yes.

It hardly surprised Hermione when she stepped inside to find that the carriage had at least three stories and was lavishly decorated in pale blues and golds: Beauxbatons's colors.

"Make yerself at home, but don't get anythin' dirty, mind yeh. Olympe'll kill me if I ruin 'er carriage," Hagrid said gruffly. He gestured for them to sit on an enormous gold couch in a room off to the right. He rummaged around in the room on the left for tea things and emerged a couple minutes later with four enormous cups, four saucers, and a waste bin-sized kettle that was emitting a steady stream of steam. After pouring tea equally into the cups, Hagrid distributed the cups and saucers and retired to a large, blue armchair in the corner.

"What are the turkeys for?" Hermione asked. She tipped the cup up to her face and nearly burned herself on the scalding liquid.

"American holiday," Hagrid said. "They call it, er . . . Thanksgiving. I s'pose there's a feast, and the headmaster said he wanted forty large turkeys by then, so I been takin' care of 'em. The other caretaker doesn't like turkeys, yeh see. Or else the turkeys don't like him. I think they know what's coming, and . . ."

Hermione half smiled, half grimaced.

"What I've been wanting to know is why you two have decided to drop me class?" he gazed in turn at Hermione and Ginny. Hermione responded with a gaze into the depths of her tea. She took another sip for courtesy. Even though he was an extremely good person, Hagrid was an awfully bad cook, and even his tea tasted terrible.

"We've already explained that, Hagrid. It's not that we don't want to take your class, but we have other things like Quidditch and Head Girl duties," explained Ginny sympathetically.

"It's just sittin' bloody flobberworms these days," Hagrid muttered but dropped the subject.

"How is Grawp doing?" Luna asked. "Last time I spoke with him he seemed a bit upset."

Hermione didn't even bother to ask when the last time Luna had visited Grawp was.

"Okay I s'pose," Hagrid shrugged. " 'E's been a bit lonely, see, without the students, and 'e misses you, 'ermione, but he's made friends with some of the centaurs. Apparently they're getting upset because of the people—I shouldn't 'ave told yeh that." He stuck his beefy hand up to his mouth, but his large brown eyes had caution written all over them.

"Told us what?" Ginny inquired readily.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Hagrid got up and opened it, stepping aside so Dennis Creevey of all people could get in. He was looking somewhat nervous and clutching a tiny rolled up piece of purple parchment on it, tied with a gold-colored strand of ribbon.

"Creevey!" Hagrid said merrily, raising his arms up in the air. "Colin Creevey is takin' me class," he jabbed at Hermione and Ginny. Hermione felt her face tingle uncomfortably.

"Er, it's Dennis," corrected Dennis meekly. Hagrid muttered an apology and led him farther into the room. "Ginny? Er, this is for you. Professor McGonagall told me to send for you right away. Erm, here."

Hermione felt the couch shift underneath her as Ginny lifted herself up and went to take the note from Dennis.

Ginny read aloud: "Dear Miss Weasley, I'd like to talk to you about your classes and how they are affecting the options you have for a future career. I quite enjoy Bludgers. Sincerely, Professor Minerva Q. McGonagall. Why does she like Bludgers?"

"It's the password to her office," Hermione explained quickly.

"If only I knew where that was," Ginny wondered aloud.

"Oh I do," Dennis spoke up. "I can walk you there."

Once Ginny and Dennis were gone, Hagrid returned to the sitting area. Hermione returned her gaze to him. "So what is going on in the forest that you can't tell us?" she asked.

"I told yeh that I shouldn't've told yeh!" Hagrid said testily. Then he let his gaze sink to his lap. "I shouldn't even know about it meself, but Grawp told me, see. He says there're people there, gathering fer somethin'. They come out at night and they look at the ground like their necks are broke. I told McGonagall, and she said the Aurors were already takin' care of it. She tells me there's nothin' to worry about, so don' ask me any more questions. I shouldn't've even told yeh as much."

But Hermione's brain was already whirring with ideas and questions. She couldn't help it.

* * *

George pushed open the door of the shop and hoisted three gigantic paper bags inside. He maneuvered his way to the back room of the shop and set them down on the long, marble table that occupied the entire center of the room. He tipped the bags over on their sides and let his supplies fall out. Spreading them across the counter with his hands, he took a moment to stare at all the things he had collected. He had a new idea, one that wasn't necessarily joke shop material, but he thought it was good all the same.

For the first time, he realized he was alone. Harry and Ron were busy at the ministry, and he was all by himself. It was a peculiar feeling if he had to describe it. Being alone wasn't something he really noticed until he thought about it.

But now that George was thinking about it and quite alone in the back room of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he realized that before now he had feared being alone. He always surrounded himself with people, fed off their energy and used it to fuel his own. He had never been at the Burrow by himself—someone was always in the house. And then he went to Hogwarts—there was no chance he would be left alone there. Then immediately after, he and Fred had bought the store premises and the flat. Even though they slept in different rooms of the flat, George had always been comforted knowing Fred was right next-door. Even during the summer, when he was living at the Burrow, he had spent most of his time with Terence, the family ghoul. But now, there wasn't a person in the entire building. And he was completely alone. Curious.

His thoughts of being alone were interrupted by a soft knock he heard on the front door. There went his newfound sensation of being by himself.

He walked to the front of the shop and saw Alicia peering through a rubbed off hole on the foggy window. She rubbed the spot again in a circular motion with the end of her sleeve and pressed her nose to the glass. George, still unaware and curious as to why she lied about her workplace, unlocked the door and let her inside.

She shivered slightly as she wiped her feet on the rug and smiled. Her ruddy cheeks contrasted brightly against her pale skin and dark hair.

"It's chilly," she said, pointing out the obvious. George didn't respond. "So what have you been up to?" she asked walking past him into the shop.

He closed the door behind her and walked inside a couple steps.

"Not much," said George placidly. "Just working on stuff for the shop, you know. I got some new supplies, ran a few errands—oh, and I ran into Lavender Brown. I thought I'd pay you a little visit at Madame Primpernelle's, and I saw Lav there, and you know what she told me?"

"Look I'm sorry, George!" Alicia burst out, before George could answer his own question. "I just didn't want you knowing that I work with Ondre. It was stupid and selfish, and Angelina already told me I've been a right bitch for lying to you, so can you not stay mad at me for too long? Please?"

"I don't think you're a bitch," George said lamely, not knowing what else to say. "You still talk to Angelina?"

Alicia had her hand on one of the shelves and was rotating a package of Ton Tongue Toffees in her hand. "Well, yeah, George. We're best friends. We didn't just stop talking all of the sudden."

"Well I thought that maybe . . . I don't know," he stammered.

"Haven't we gone over this already?" she said eyeing him inquisitively. "Just because you became a mopey, old hermit over the summer doesn't mean the rest of us stayed cooped up in our houses too. The rest of us have lives to live, preferably without the assistance of a bottle of Firewhiskey a day."

"I thought I told you I've stopped drinking!" George cried, hurt by the jabs. "I want to have lunch with Ang though. Can you tell her?"

Alicia shrugged noncommittally, putting down the toffees.

"Come here." George led her back through the two main rooms of the shop to the back room where he had previously been alone. They stepped inside, and George immediately felt as though he had invaded Fred's and his personal space. The back room had been, by no means, an exclusive "Fred and George" area of the shop, but prior to today only Fred, George, their assistant Verity, and the occasional Weasley brother had been inside. Not even his mum had set foot in here before.

"So this is where the magic happens," Alicia said coquettishly.

George took a few minutes to explain to her his new idea. Although she nodded and tried to seem neutral, he could tell Alicia liked the idea by the way her eyes sparkled animatedly and her head nodded slightly.

"It's great, George. Wonderful," was all she said when he had finished. "You're brilliant."

"Thanks," George muttered humbly. "Can I ask a question?"

"You just did, but I'll allow another one."

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked.

She looked him straight in the eye when she sighed and said, "I didn't want you to know that Ondre Ollivander and I a-are dating. I didn't think you would take it well after, well, you know . . . what happened. I'm still not entirely sure."

Almost instantly, George felt himself regretting bringing her into the back room. He wasn't sure why. Alicia and he had never been more than good friends. They still were good friends as a matter of fact.

* * *

Ginny walked quickly, a few paces behind Dennis Creevey. She was annoyed at the authors of proverbial phrases for making up the sentence, "Silence is golden." Right now silence was the opposite of golden; it was just plain awkward. She wracked her brain for something, anything to say to Dennis. Abbey Alver was big, McGonagall's office was the farthest point away from where she was right now, and the silence between Dennis and Ginny was making her head pound with beleaguering emptiness.

"So how's the photography going?" she asked Dennis. He had come to a few practices to take pictures, but Ginny hadn't paid all that much attention to him because she was far too busy trying to teach Romilda the basics of flying.

"Sub-par at best," Dennis answered seconds later. "I just don't have the—the . . . talent."

Ginny hummed a noncommittal response. They were quiet again.

"I mean I know Colin was annoying, but he was talented and annoying. Me? I'm just annoying," Dennis said as they ran up a flight of stairs, taking them two at a time.

"I don't find you annoying," Ginny replied.

"You don't?" Dennis asked, stopping and turned toward her.

Ginny took a few bounds forward to catch up to him and looked him straight in the eye. "Nope," she said, sliding her arm under his and linking arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dennis's cheek stretch into a taut smile.

They finally reached a silvery painting at the end of a long, out of the way corridor.

"Here," Dennis said, gesturing toward it.

"Bludgers," Ginny said out loud.

"What? Oh."

The painting slid to the left to reveal a door with a gold handle right in the center of it.

"Wait for me?" Ginny asked Dennis, as she tugged on the handle. Dennis nodded.

The door didn't open to the left or right, instead it came crashing right down the middle to form a wooden drawbridge from the step it was attached to. She stepped gingerly onto the door and Dennis nodded before she whipped her head around and out of sight.

The headmistress's office was enormous, much larger than the one at Hogwarts. Ginny was intrigued by the sheer size of the room, because when it was only Abbey Alver occupying the castle, this office belonged to the deputy. Inside there were four areas set aside for four specific facets of being headmistress. Upon immediate entry, there was a set of floral armchairs surrounding a large tea table. The left, in a large indentation in the wall, was McGonagall's desk. Unlike her desk at Hogwarts, it was cluttered with spare pieces of parchment. _Unusual_, Ginny noted. The back of the office was raised two steps higher than the front, and in it was a semi circle of bookshelves surrounding a sofa the size of a beluga whale and a tiny kitchen area with a stove and small counter.

The smell of biscuits filled Ginny's nostrils.

"Weasley!" McGonagall said stiffly. Ginny turned and noticed what she had failed to spot the first time she had searched the room: Professor McGonagall sitting on a chair with a tin of biscuits on the tea table in front of her. "I'm glad you could make it."

"You can call me Ginny," Ginny said, much the same way she had said it the last time she had met with the headmistress.

Over the summer, Ginny hadn't noticed it as much, but McGonagall was beginning to look old. It was most noticeable in her hands: the way the blue veins peeked out and they quivered as she moved them toward a small metal tin in the center of the table.

"Biscuit?" Professor McGonagall asked, peeling open the tin and sliding it across the table to where Ginny was standing. "Please, sit down."

Ginny pulled out one of the floral armchairs slightly and slid into it. She delicately picked up one of the smaller biscuits, careful not to let her hands touch any of the others. It was still warm.

"I wanted to talk to you about your career," explained Professor McGonagall.

Ginny looked up into the woman's eyes. They were bloodshot and sagged at the corners as if they were tired.

"We need to start planning for your future, Ginny," McGonagall said. "And all plans start with a goal in mind. To you have any idea what you want to do with your life?"

Ginny shook her head. "The thing is, Professor McGonagall, I'm not sure what exactly I want to do with my life yet."

"And I encourage you to continue exploring, find out what your interests are, see what you could make a career out of, but right now is the time for decision-making. What are you going to do when you graduate?"

Ginny shrugged and thought for a moment. "I honestly don't know, Professor."

Their conversation, if it could be called that, was interrupted by a clicking noise and a tapping on the glass window behind McGonagall.

"Damn _birds_!" McGonagall cried, leaping toward the window. Ginny sucked in a large breath of air and watched, almost terrified, as the headmistress whipped open the window and grabbed a decrepit barn owl from the sill.

She fumbled for a long time, untying a piece of parchment from the owl's foot. Then she threw the owl out the window. Ginny stood to watch the owl fall four stories, almost crashing into the lawn before its wings caught air and it flapped clumsily away.

"A-are you all right?" Ginny asked hesitantly.

"No, read this," Professor McGonagall said. Her voice was suddenly weak and sad. Ginny peeled the letter tenderly from McGonagall and began to read.

"Dear Minerva, It's been a while since we last sat down to tea. I must admit that I thought you would be a much better headmistress than you've turned out.

"Who wrote this McGonagall? Hermione and I will go kick—"

"Just keep reading," urged McGonagall. She now had the same complexion as the Grey Lady.

Ginny shrugged. "I knew for certain you'd never live up to the prowess that Albus Dumbledore exhibited, but I expected more out of you. For starters, the reconstruction of Hogwarts isn't finished yet, a feat you promised would be complete before September. And then you dragged by baby all the way across the ocean to that school in America. Abbey Alver is not only far less competent than any of the European schools, but also one of the reasons we moved to the United States in the first place. I have half a mind to take my son out of school early, if only to take him back home where he belongs. Sincerely, Cleo Thomas.

"Cleo Thomas? Dean's mum? But she's really nice Professor. She would never write this letter! And Dean has definitely lived in Scotland his whole life. This letter is fake," Ginny pointed out. "How many have you gotten?"

McGonagall gestured to a stack of letters on her desk. There were at least one hundred, probably more.

Ginny sifted through the parchment noticing at once that they were all written in green ink. And at least half of them were in the same frou-frou handwriting.

"Professor? Did you think these were real? That people were writing to you all this time?" Ginny asked, thinking it was pretty obvious that they were all from the same person.

"Of course not!" McGonagall spat bitterly. "I knew those were from the same person. I had their owls tracked, and the Aurors never could find out whom they led to. Then there were the visitors, parents actually coming to the school to tell me off. It's my first year for crying out loud! They can't expect another Dumbledore." Her voice faltered.

Ginny wrapped her mind around the situation. Parents actually coming to Abbey Alver to criticize McGongall? It made no sense. Especially following the events that happened last year. McGonagall, while less seasoned and cherished as Professor Dumbledore, surely wasn't the worst headmistress to ever run Hogwarts. Considering the circumstances, Ginny had thought McGonagall was doing well, aside from her nervous disposition.

"I never was cut out to be headmistress," McGonagall unloaded. "I was meant to play deputy for the rest of my life. Second-in-command is where I belong."

"But you are first-in-command now, Professor," Ginny coaxed uncomfortably. It was strange comforting someone she had looked up to for seven years. McGonagall had always been the strict, stoic professor. What, or who, had battered her?

"Dennis?" Ginny said a while later, after finally getting out of McGonagall's office. Her stomach grumbled. She had met with McGonagall much longer than she had expected. Dennis was propped up against the stone wall with his legs crossed and his eyes closed.

"Mmmm," Dennis murmured in a sleepy response. "Oh, Ginny!" He immediately got to his feet and advanced toward her. "How was your meeting?"

"Sorry I'm so late," said Ginny thickly. "I got hung up. Want to grab a bite to eat?"

* * *

Hermione would never admit it to anyone that asked, but ever since those endless nights spent guarding the tent last year, she had been afraid of the dark. It wasn't so much the lack of light that bothered her, it was the thoughts that invaded her head as her eyes strained to see what wasn't there. Without anything to focus on—whether that was a book, a piece of tapestry, even the tips of her fingernails—Hermione found her mind invaded with unpleasant thoughts. That was why she kept her wand lit and raised as she inched slowly down the hall that night.

If she was being honest with herself, the pride of becoming head girl wasn't necessarily worth it for the price she had to pay: nightly runs around the castle, the responsibility to assign detentions to unruly students, and the promise to always be diligent were just a few of the perks. Not that Hermione didn't like punctuality, practicality, and principality, but she also enjoyed the rarely-used option of a night off, something she hadn't had in years.

Hermione paused in the middle of the hallway and perked up her ears. She thought she had heard something, a voice perhaps. The low cadences continued and she inched forward down the hall trying to locate the source of the sound. It was probably just a couple of hormonal teenagers carrying out their torrid love affair in an empty classroom, but Hermione did want to be sure; she _was_ head girl.

"I _am _trying!" came a familiar voice. Definitely not the steamy snogging Hermione had expected. "Rome wasn't built in a day!"

The classroom door was closed shut, but the voice carried out into the hall. Hermione perched herself up on her tiptoes to try and see through the little square window at the top of the door. She soothed an itch on her calf with the toe of her shoe.

"Time is of the essence!" another voice said. Hermione peered through the door to see Draco standing in front of the classroom's fireplace. A small fire was blazing in it, and Narcissa Malfoy's head was crackling in and out of the flames. "They're angry, Draco! If we can't prove to them that we're on their side, they'll make a mockery us. We're running _out of time_!" there was a nasty hiss and a fizzle and the flames disappeared, replaced with only smoke and a few sizzling embers.

Hermione sucked in her breath and shot quietly down the hall, making sure she was neither seen nor heard. This was not good, not good at all.

* * *

A/N: Did anyone see the Harry Potter movie? Did you get tickets to the midnight premiere? I tried like a month in advance and they were already sold out everywhere. :( I did, however, watch the live premiere red carpet in Trafalgar Square and wished I were there. What age did you first start reading the series? I started reading in the summer between first in second grade. Want to know where I found the book? In the closet under my stairs. Ironic, eh?

* * *

**Sammie**


	17. We Do It For Love

**Chapter Seventeen  
****We Do It for Love**

"Mrs. Tonks?" Harry called. His voice bounced and echoed off of the stark walls of Andromeda Tonks's foyer. He had only seen the inside of the house once, last year, and even then he had only seen in the living room. The house was bigger than he had expected and more austere. He hated to admit it, but he had almost let himself believe Andromeda would let the state of the house fall to the wayside in light of recent events. He was surprised to find it as clean as 4 Privet Drive.

Harry took a step further into the house. His footsteps seemed noisy against the quiet of the house. Beyond an arch beside the long staircase was the kitchen. Teddy and Andromeda weren't in there either. Harry felt a slight breeze across the back of his neck. He turned to find the window of the kitchen slightly ajar. His Auror instincts—if there was such a thing—told him something was out of place. Maybe he was turning as paranoid as Moody.

He heard a cry from outside. Harry couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. All of the preparation that came with becoming an Auror was really going to his head.

He fumbled with the handle on the back door and finally opened it, walking outside into the bright sunlight. Andromeda was sitting on the back patio in a folding lawn chair, Teddy at her feet.

"Oh sh-sh-sh-sh-shhh," she whispered soothingly to the crying baby. She slid her hands under his armpits and bounced him up and down slightly on her knee. Teddy's wails subsided after a hundredfold bounces.

Harry walked toward her, forgetting the screen door he was holding open. It swung shut with a loud clash, making Andromeda jump.

"Oh, Harry," she said turning to face him. "You gave me a fright."

"Sorry, Mrs. Tonks," he said. Andromeda summoned a chair for Harry and gestured for him to sit in it.

"Andromeda, love—what brings you here?" she asked. Her hand was against her forehead shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked across the backyard into the fog that lingered perpetually around the house.

"I wanted to see Teddy," Harry said.

Andromeda gazed back at him, perception evident across her face. "You're leaving," she stated quietly.

Harry nodded briefly. "Tomorrow."

"Can't say I'm surprised," she replied, picking up Teddy and handing him to Harry. "You're just like them, you know."

Harry knew.

Teddy was warm on Harry's lap. His skin was smooth and soft. He giggled and began to suck on his wrist.

"He's teething," she said proudly. A smile tugged at her eyes. "I know it hurts, Teddy."

Harry looked at Teddy long and hard until he opened his mouth, four white bumps sticking out of his tiny gums, little tiny teeth.

"Brilliant," Harry said, grinning goofily. "Good job, mate." He took Teddy's hand and clapped it against his own, pretending to high five. Teddy giggled and Harry caught another glimpse of the teeth.

"Mrs. Tonks?" Harry asked only moments later. She was staring into the fog with an unreadable expression plastered across her face. "Are you all right? Is everything okay with Teddy? I can stay —"

"No go. I'm fine, Harry. Just not the mother I used to be," she admitted. "When Ted and I had Dora, we were young, fearless, a bit stupid. Now I'm old, Harry, and I have fear and knowledge, and I worry almost constantly about Teddy and his safety. They're still out there," she said staring perturbedly into the mist, "and they're not happy. They won't stay quiet forever, Harry. I worry about you, and Molly and Arthur's kids, the Order, and Teddy."

Harry scooted Teddy over to his other leg. Teddy grabbed at Harry's jacket strings quietly. "Don't worry. Don't become careless either. Just . . . just enjoy the time you have now. I know it seems like this will last forever, but forever isn't very long at all. And you shouldn't worry about us either, Mrs. Tonks, we're sort of experts at surviving near-death experiences." He smoothed his bangs off of his forehead, revealing his scar.

"You're very wise. You know that?" Andromeda said cocking her head toward him.

Harry laughed sourly. "Spending weeks on end in a tent gives a guy a lot of time to think," he remarked.

Andromeda got up from her chair. "Want a cup of tea?" she asked. Harry nodded.

He heard the screen door swing shut with a clash, and he and Teddy were alone on the patio. His mind was drawn to something she had said about them being out there, angry and troubled. Harry was entirely certain "them" meant the Death Eaters. He knew she was right. He also wasn't afraid to admit that the thought scared the living hell out of him.

He grabbed Teddy closer, tousling his bright blue hair through his fingers.

* * *

Fleur kept her eye plastered to the walkway outside the window as she bustled around the kitchen getting everything ready. The table was set, candles lit, and a cassoulet was being kept warm in the oven—one she had spent all day making, she might add.

When they had gotten married, Bill and Fleur had been anything but the traditional family: the husband goes off to work, and the wife stays home and does housework and cooking and cleaning. But it was into those roles they had fallen as of late, with Bill working day in and day out just to make enough to pay the bills, and Fleur taking over his chores in his absence. Neither of them minded the traditional approach to life, for it was what worked best for them.

Fleur used to associate traditional with boring. In a way, she still did. A little bit of surprise here and there never hurt a part-veela and a part-werewolf couple—sometimes even she had to laugh at how odd that sounded.

Fleur caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, she was wearing an apron, her face was soaked in sweat from the hot kitchen, and she reminded herself of her mother-in-law. It was funny how her feelings toward the woman could change so drastically in such a short amount of time.

She pulled at the ties of the apron and fished it over her head. She tugged at the band holding her bun together and smoothed her hair down. Fleur then went to the bathroom and cleaned up her messy face a bit before she heard a faint crack outside the house.

Bill was home. Fleur rushed to the kitchen and watched through the kitchen curtains as he trudged up the sandy walkway. The day had beaten him. Her hand closed around the curtain and pulled it closed before she went to open the door for him.

"Fleur," he breathed, smacking loose sand from his shoes on the welcome mat in the lean-to entry. He looked up as he slid his feet out of his shoes and tossed them to the side. As she met him for a kiss, she didn't fail to note how tired looked.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," she said, rubbing her hand soothingly up and down his arm. "Are you going to go wash up?"

"Yeah," he mumbled tiredly, his cheek grazed hers as he walked past her and went upstairs to change out of his work clothes.

* * *

Bill turned off the water and let his freezing cold body stand in the shower for a few minutes, collecting goose pimples.

Not that he blamed Ron, Hermione, or Harry for breaking into Gringott's, in fact he commended them for it, but ever since, his job at Gringott's had only become more difficult. Goblins were not known for their benevolence, but what most wizards failed to realize was that goblins never forgot anything—ever. And they held grudges. So if your brother, your brother's girlfriend, and your brother's best mate all broke into Gringott's, even if it was for a good cause, you could never be more than a worthless piece of scum in any goblin's eyes. That meant longer hours at a deducted pay for Bill. He used to love his job; now it meant the simplest definition of the word to him, a piece of work for which he would be payed.

Bill toweled himself dry and walked into the bedroom. He foraged through his clothes and grabbed whatever his hands latched around first. It was a plain shirt and a pair of pants. He sat on the end of the bed and pulled the pants over his legs. Sitting felt so good.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Tired and beaten from the day he had been a less than ideal husband to Fleur as of late. Lately, he had fallen into the rut of coming home dirty and smelly, taking a shower and fixing up for Fleur, devouring whatever meal she made, and retiring to bed, so he could get some sleep before waking up at four the next morning and repeating the process. He wanted so dearly to spend more time with her. He had never fit the cookie-cutter family mold, and he never wanted to. He was going to change that.

He trudged downstairs, feeling only slightly rejuvenated from his shower. The smells that emanated from the kitchen reminded him of home. He was home.

He suddenly stopped on the ledge of the kitchen door. Fleur was inside the kitchen swaying to the beat of a Musidora Barkwith piece. Bill loved it when Fleur danced. She never did it voluntarily in front of him, so he moments he got to see her dance were few and far between. Her veela blood made her a great dancer by default, but putting sex aside, Bill loved seeing Fleur so free-spirited. The last time he had seen her dance was on their wedding night. He doubted whether she had danced since then, regardless of whether or not he was in the room.

He walked into the kitchen a little farther and fished his wand out of his pocket. He pointed at the volume dial and inched it a few notches louder. Fleur jumped slightly and turned to face him, but before she could stop he grabbed her by the waist and gave her a twirl. He was glad to see her smile as she collapsed back into his arms.

They swayed back and forth, revolving on the spot. Bill concentrated on not stepping on her feet. Fleur tucked her head onto his chest, and he smoothed down her hair, lost in the moment.

The kitchen timer went off, and Fleur unlaced herself from him, bustling around to take the stew out of the oven.

After the usual rounds of "how was your day" and "how was work," they ate in relative silence. Fleur, however, looked like she had something she wanted to say.

In the spur of the moment, Bill leaned over the table and gave Fleur a kiss.

"What was that for?" she giggled, setting her spoon down and wiping her face with her napkin.

"No reason," Bill said. "Except to say I love you."

Fleur blushed madly. "Well thank you. I love you too, Bill."

The rest of dinner passed in greater relaxation. They chatted about the same things they had talked about when they were dating. They shared a few giddy smiles.

Fleur suddenly stopped and looked bashfully down. She looked back up at Bill through her long, dark eyelashes, like she was trying to get him to do something. It was hard to resist Fleur when she was being flirtatious. It was both a blessing and a curse to be married to a quarter-Veela—mostly a blessing.

"Have you . . . ever thought about maybe having . . . having maybe a child?" Fleur asked.

"Course I have," Bill said. He twirled his spoon over in his empty bowl.

Fleur seemed to relax when he said that. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean I come from a big family; of course I want kids," Bill said lightly.

"Oh, so you think we should, you know, think about, you know, trying to have one?" Fleur asked.

Bill's lunged forced out all the air that was inside of them. "Now?" he asked. He thought Fleur had been talking about down the road, much, much farther down the road, when they had money to spare and weren't young, naïve, and a bit stupid.

"Well yes," she said, blushing bright red again. "But if you don't want to—"

Bill smiled. He loved it when his wife got red and nervous. It was a nice contrast to her usual ease. He sighed. "I don't know Fleur. With work and more work, do we really have time for a baby?"

"I have lots of time," Fleur said quickly.

"I don't," Bill returned. He thought for a minute. She sat across from him looking even more alluring then she had even two minutes ago. Bill knew what she was doing; she was trying to entice him. His enchantment to her had never faded.

"Petits doigts, les orteils minuscules. Un bébé pour soigner, pour appeler nos propres," she spoke sultrily. She gazed up at him. _Little fingers, tiny toes. A baby to take care of, to call our own._

"Combien de temps, er, avez-vous, er, pensé cela?" Bill asked, with a poor French accent. _How long have you been thinking about this_? Fleur laughed at his voice.

"Un certain temps," Fleur replied. She ran her finger around the rim of his empty glass and picked it up. _A while. _She looked away as she bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up all the dishes.

"Je ne sais pas encore. Nous verrons," he said thoughtfully. _I don't know yet. We'll see. _He looked back to see a faint smile on her face before he turned and stumbled upstairs to bed, thoughts of the night's conversation weighing heavily on his mind.

He slipped out of his day clothes and slugged over to the bed. The moment his head touched the pillow, the gentle lull of sleep came over him. Several minutes later, Bill heard Fleur's footsteps plod up the stairs. He heard the creak of the bedroom door being opened, and a small beam of light splashed over his closed eyes. He listened as she fiddled around in the bathroom.

A while later, Bill felt her weight on the other side of the bed. He was facing the opposite direction. He turned over and unraveled her hair from the bun she had been wearing all day.

"Six months. I'll be ready," he whispered on her ear before falling into a helplessly easy sleep.

* * *

"Good luck, Ginny," Tessie called, patting Ginny on the back as she brushed by on her way to the locker rooms. "We'll be rooting for you."

Ginny breathed in deeply. Tessie's team had just crushed the Ignus team in an upsetting 320 to 40 win. Ginny knew Tessie's team was good, but she hadn't anticipated them being _that_ good. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she turned to face Gryffindor team. They'd practiced nearly every day for the past month; they knew all the basics, the maneuvers, and the finer details; and most importantly, Ginny made sure her team knew they were good.

But a team is only as strong as it's weakest link. Ginny knew Romilda Vane was never going to be an adequate seeker. She knew that she was still furious at Dean for what he did to Snape. She knew she had only spoken a few meaningless, bitter words to him since then. And although Ginny knew her team was good, she was still a little wary about whether or not they were good enough.

"Okay everyone," she said, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. She eyed Tessie in the corner of the locker room, beaming and being congratulated by all of her teammates. "We're good. We know that. We know everything we can possibly know, and we've eaten, slept, and breathed nothing but Quidditch for the past five weeks. Our chasers are unbeatable. Dean? Demelza? We're unstoppable. Coote? Peakes? I don't care what you have to do, but make sure the Slytherins are crying in their Butterbeers when this is all said and done. Reamer, if you let any balls past you, I'll murder you at practice. Romilda?" Ginny sighed. "Just do your best."

"It's time," Professor Maddox said, tapping Ginny on he shoulder and moving aside.

Ginny's heart beat quickly as she followed her team out onto the field. The day was bright and cloudless. It was nippy, but the sun still felt warm when it shined right on her face, perfect conditions for a Quidditch match. Impending doom didn't seem to be around the corner.

The time it took for the announcer to announce the two teams passed in a blur. Ginny scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Harry had promised he'd come. Madame Hooch said her usual speech, and the two captains were to shake hands. Oh, that was Ginny.

Draco Malfoy was pushed out of the throng of seven bestial Slytherins into Ginny. She stuck out her hand stoically, and Draco Malfoy shook it loosely.

"Remind me again what you're doing here?" he asked, scowling. "I thought you were to busy listening to diaries to play Quidditch. And Romilda Vane?"

Ginny scowled back. "Did Mummy buy you a spot as captain just like she bought that tattoo on your arm?"

Ginny almost smirked as she saw Draco shake his sleeve farther over his arm.

"Quiet, you two," Hooch scolded. "Ready? On my whistle then: three, two, one —"

Ginny hardly waited for the whistle to blow before she shot up into the air, hovering over Madame Hooch, who had yet to release the Quaffle.

"No foul play, no grabbing, no knocking, no Bludgers to the head, you hear?" Madame Hooch said. She unhooked the leather straps of the trunk slowly and opened the lid. Ginny briefly spotted the snitch, but before she could grab it, it buzzed out of sight.

Madame Hooch tossed the Quaffle up in the air and the game began. Just like they had practiced, Demelza flew in the huddle to grab the ball and Ginny and Dean flew on either side of her, prepared to catch any pass she might throw.

Ginny spent the first few hesitant seconds of the game scanning over the Slytherin team. It seemed Malfoy had fashioned a team based on brute strength. All of the players, excluding himself, were easily taller than Ron and weighed twice as much.

A green and silver chaser came hurtling toward her at that moment, and she narrowly swerved to avoid being pummeled. Ginny swiveled her head toward Demelza, who was attempting to wrestle the ball from another chaser.

"Dean!" Ginny hollered. "Help her!"

Ginny swerved again to avoid the rogue Chaser and flew toward Demelza and Dean. It was going to be a blood battle.

"Hey Bozo!" she cried at the chaser. She might not be able to push, grab, or knock him, but outwitting the chasers that would put even Crabbe and Goyle to shame was strictly fair play. Her interjection distracted the chaser long enough so that Demelza could grab the Quaffle and fly toward the goal.

Ginny, on the other hand, was in the Chaser's immediate grasp. He barreled toward her, and once again, she avoided getting hit by the skin of her teeth.

She heard a bell ding and the Gryffindor side of the stadium roared in a mass of red, gold, and purple. Either Demelza or Dean had scored. Ginny blinked and scanned the crowd for Hermione, Ron, Harry, or the large, roaring lion hat that Luna sported to Gryffindor matches. Before she could find them, the Quaffle was back into play.

_One hundred sixty, one hundred sixty, one hundred sixty_, echoed through Ginny's mind as a Bludger was pelted toward her. She was amazed no one was struck dead yet.

"Peakes!" she screamed at Peakes, feeling her voice give a little. "What are you doing? KNOCK THEM OFF THEIR BROOMS! If you can't do that, at least make sure they aren't going to kill us!"

Peakes swung his bat once through the air and dove for a Bludger. Ginny heard a sickening crunch as it met its mark in the fatty part of a Slytherin's stomach.

"Where's Vane?" Ginny cried.

Coote shrugged then pointed up. Romilda Vane was about forty meters in the air, clinging on her broom for dear life. Ginny swerved up to meet her.

"Hey!" Ginny called. "What are you doing?"

"Choosing life over death," Romilda said. Ginny could see that her face was sodden with tears and runny mascara.

"There's no crying in Quidditch!" Ginny hollered over the roar of the crowd. Ginny looked down to see the Slytherin side cheering. "REAMER, I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU! I'm sending you down to play chaser. Finding the snitch is more important than getting goals right now."

"I can't go down there," Romilda said fearfully.

"If you don't I'll knock you off your broom," threatened Ginny. She flew menacingly toward Romilda, who screeched and swerved to avoid getting hit. Ginny knew she was being unfair, but Dean and Demelza couldn't beat the three Slytherin chasers by themselves.

"Stop it, stop it, I quit!" Romilda screamed.

"Why did you even — TIME OUT!" Ginny yelled diving for the ground.

"Okay guys, we're going to lose if we don't get our act together," Ginny spat at her team. "Coote, Peakes, getting fouled doesn't even matter anymore; I want those chasers in the hospital wing for a week. Romilda, if you don't want to play that's fine. Just leave. Now. Reamer, are you all right?"

Johnnie Reamer was nursing a very nasty cut on the side of his face. "The girl chaser has got some claws!" he said, wincing.

"Blimey, I didn't know that was a girl," Demelza said, peering across the field at the Slytherins. Ginny shuddered: she hadn't realized it either.

"Dean, Demelza, can you hold down the fort? I'm going to try and catch the snitch."

Ginny peered into the crowd again. Given more time to scan, her eyes eventually spotted Luna's lion hat, roaring from the top row, followed by Ron's bright red hair, Hermione's bushy curls, Tessie, and then Irene, and then a first year. Ginny looked again. There was no Harry.

"You okay?" Dean asked, reaching out.

"I —" Madame Hooch's whistle sliced through the afternoon, calling them back out on the field. Romilda decided to join them for the conclusion of the match.

As the afternoon wore on, Ginny became tired. Her eyes scanned every square inch of the pitch, but she couldn't focus. Where was Harry? She had never once known him to break a promise. Something didn't add up.

"Where is it?" Draco asked, his breathing heavy. Ginny realized she had drifted upward.

"Where's what?" Ginny asked.

"The snitch bi —"

"Why are you asking me?" Ginny asked. "You're the one that's been a seeker for six years."

Draco's eyes drifted to a spot down below, where a woman with white-blonde hair was sitting, staring up at the match in discontent.

"Isn't she supposed to be in prison or something?" Ginny asked, referring to Draco's mother. Malfoy scowled.

On a whim, and remembering something from oh so many years ago when she had first met Mrs. Malfoy, Ginny dove toward the ground.

"She's spotted it!" Ginny heard someone yell from the crowd.

The entire crowd was screaming as she hurtled toward the ground, praying Draco Malfoy was behind her. At the last second she pulled out of it, grazing the barrier between the grass and the crowd and taking a liberal amount of room to screech to a halt. She flew off her broomstick and ran several yards more before she slammed into the ground forcefully and looked back.

Draco Malfoy was flying in a circle above her, and there was cheering, but it wasn't coming from the Gryffindors. It was the Slytherins. Draco had caught the snitch. Ginny pounded her fist into the grass and groaned. Number one rule of using the Wronski Feint: make sure the snitch isn't actually where you're diving.

After the general confusion of what actually happened subsided, and Madame Hooch declared that Draco Malfoy had indeed caught the Snitch and Slytherin won the match, Ginny rolled over onto her back. She sat up to examine her broom, which lay in shambles at her feet. It had barely survived the dive.

The spectators poured onto the field in triumph and defeat, and the Gryffindor team crowded around Ginny. She tilted her head up to see Hermione pushing through the crowd, followed by Ron, Luna, Tessie, and Irene.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Ginny said, feeling the back of her head. She removed her hand and saw blood. "On second thought, no."

"Come on," Ron said, his face wrought with concern. The entire team lifted her and escorted her slowly off the field.

"Where's Harry?" Ginny demanded.

"Let's get you to the hospital wing first," Ron said, urging her forward.

"No, where is he?" Ginny said again. She tried to swallow down the pressure that was forming in the back of her throat.

"I don't think —" Hermione started.

Even though her knees weren't cooperating with the rest of her, she untangled herself from Hermione's grasp. "I can walk by myself. Where is Harry?"

Ron swallowed hard. "Auror mission. They've promoted him."

"And you?" Ginny asked, before the meaning of his words really sank in.

"Me? I start next week," Ron said, scratching his arm and looking down.

Hermione let out a yelp and completely let go of Ginny. Ginny wobbled a bit, and held the back of her head. Demelza and Dean grabbed each of her arms and held her steady.

Ginny attempted to process the information during the walk to the hospital wing. She couldn't quite.

"My my my," said the same Healer in mint green robes, Mr. Mercado, "just as I predicted. We will be seeing a lot of each other, daredevil."

* * *

A/N: Bbbllleeeeuuuurrggghh is all I've got to say. Please leave a review if you feel inclined.

* * *

**Sammie**


	18. Into the Forest Again

**Chapter Eighteen  
****Into the Forest Again**

The thing about Gawain Robards was that, despite his tall, menacing stature, an array of deep and jagged scars adorning his tired, old face, and his deep voice, he was quite incompetent as head of the auror office. Kingsley had admitted that Robards was only there so the Ministry could formally say there _was_ someone leading the Aurors. Almost everyone knew Robards was merely regurgitating Kingsley's directions as his own.

Harry had never been Robards's biggest fan — that was partially due to the fact that he had come into head when Scrimgeour was minister, and Harry had never been a fan of Scrimgeour's either. Although he had many misgivings about the current head Auror, Harry was going to strive to do his best tomorrow, when he would begin his first real assignment.

Only eighteen, and Harry was already working at the Ministry. If someone had told him that seven years ago, Harry would have laughed them out of the room. Even now he was chuckling in his mind, as he lay sleeplessly under the covers of his bed in the flat that night —it'd be his last night in London for a while. He couldn't help but feel nervous and jittery, much the same way he felt before exams or even a particularly challenging potions lesson with Snape.

In the bed across the room, Ron was snoring loudly, making it even harder for Harry to sleep. Ron was on a different assignment than Harry, and he didn't leave home for another week or two.

Harry squinted uselessly and fumbled around for his glasses in the dark. His eyes had adjusted to the blackness of the room, so once his glasses were resting firmly on the bridge of his nose, it was easy to locate his wand, which was perched lackadaisically on the nightstand to his left.

"_Lumos_," he whispered softly, and the tip of his wand ignited, a faint yellow orb. By the light from his wand and the silvery crescent moon that colored the black sky, Harry attempted to remember everything he had learned about magic thus far. It had been a long journey since the days of "Levi-_o-_sa not Levio-_sa_!"

_Swish and flick, swish and flick, swish and flick,_ Harry spoke in his head as he pointed his wand at his pillow. It rose a few feet in the air and fell back in place when he put his wand down.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he whispered, picturing in his mind the faces of his best friends. A silent silver stag erupted from the yellowed tip of his wand, bounding weightlessly across the room and flooding the area with a brilliant amount of light.

Harry peered around the stag toward Ron, still fast asleep.

The stag cantered around the middle of the room, bouncing off of the nightstand, the armoire, and the end of Harry's bed before it cast its glow over the window curtains. The light illuminated the silhouette of a man standing in the corner of the room.

Harry's heart leapt to his throat and he scrambled out from under his covers, clutching his wand tightly and jamming his glasses into the bridge of his nose. He leapt across the bed at the figure and waved his wand, saying the first spell he could think of: "_Incarcerous_!"

The figure was too quick for him and blocked the spell before it reached its mark. "Hey! Calm down, it's only me!"

Harry recognized the voice to be Robards, and sure enough, his huge figure limped out from behind the curtains seconds later. Harry lowered his wand only slightly. "What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"Retrieving you for our _assignment_," Robards grumbled.

"Wait er . . . what is your cat's name?" Harry asked, remembering a day a while back, when Kingsley had asked the very same question to verify Robards was really who he said he was.

"That's personal!" Robards said with a scowl. "But all right. Her name is Rutherford Datherine Komali."

Harry lowered his wand all the way. "Well I had to check," he pointed out. "You can't just go around hiding in other people's curtains. So what are you doing here again? We aren't due to start our assignment until five tomorrow."

Robards nodded, still slightly pink. "I understand. And as for what I'm doing here, the time we set for an assignment to start, and the time we actually begin are two different things. It helps keep things confidential."

"Oh, okay," said Harry. It was his turn to stand uncomfortably, with his wand at his side.

"Let's go," Robards commended, grasping Harry's shoulder and swiveling him around toward the door. "Do you have floo powder?"

A minute later, Harry crashed onto the hard stone floor of the three broomsticks. Crawling up to a standing position, he found himself standing in the middle of a semicircle of Aurors, a couple of which he recognized and even more that were strangers. All of them, however, had varying looks of smugness, condescension, or plain curiosity written upon their faces.

Madame Rosemerta, who had been in the back, fixing drinks for the group, shoved her way in between two taller men, and set a tray of Firewhiskeys on the table in front of them. She looked somewhat exasperated but winked at Harry as she returned to the back room.

Harry glanced around the dimly lit room, trying to focus in on what was going on. The Aurors were grouped in sets of three or four, carrying on their own conversations, but no one stepped up to lead the group. Harry wondered what he was meant to do. Two men Harry recognized got glasses of Firewhiskey, and the rest of the Aurors followed suit. Harry sidled over to the last remaining mugs on the cork tray and picked one up casually.

"Yer not even old enough to drink that!" someone called. Harry turned and faced one of the bigger men in the group. His name was Barry Thymus, and he was a good fighter and extremely clever, albeit mean-spirited, especially toward Harry.

"I, er, I turned eighteen three months ago," Harry muttered, attempting to retreat to a less populous corner of the pub.

"I turned eighteen three months ago," Thymus repeated. "Cain't even buy dragons' blood legally an' 'ere 'e thinks 'e's goin' a be a big-time Auror."

"Oh shove off, Barry!" a girl said. "Wasn't it you who failed your Apparition test fourteen times? In the meantime, Harry's broken into Gringott's and survived, not to mention saved your fat, white arse from being blasted off by You-Know-Who!"

Harry's face flushed. The last thing he had wanted was to be put on display like that. He may have done things that even impressed him in his lifetime, but here he was just an Auror, a regular, eighteen-year-old Auror.

"Come on, Harry," she said, pulling him backward by the sleeve of his jacket, "he's just jealous."

Harry stumbled backward and joined the girl at a short table. She summoned two glasses of Firewhiskey and passed one to him. He took a quick sip and set it down. The red liquid burned his lips and throat in a satisfying way.

"Where did Robards go?" Harry asked her.

"Robards? Probably lost. He can't tell the sucker end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt from the pincers — wait a second, scratch that, no one knows that except maybe Hagrid . . . maybe," she said smiling.

Harry chuckled.

"I'm Ellen by the way. Nice to meet you Harry Potter," she said. Her face was blank but Harry could tell her eyes were smiling. She was probably laughing on the inside.

"Nice to meet you," Harry greeted her, after hastily choking down another sip of his drink.

Harry had perceived the name Ellen to belong to frail, old ladies in their nineties, but this Ellen was anything but frail and old. She couldn't have been too many years older than Harry, Bill's age maybe, and she was as poised and light as a jungle cat. She kind of looked like one too: thick curly hair in a pile on top of her head, dark skin, and large, light-brown, heavily-lined eyes made up her.

"So what brings you here, Harry Potter?" she asked, rotating her wand above her mug so the Firewhiskey rotated slowly. She blinked up at him.

"Business," Harry said pointedly, feeling his face burn. He was thankful it was dark inside the pub. "Just doing my job. _Nothing _more."

At that moment, Harry was interrupted by the arrival of Robards. Harry scooted his chair out noisily across the floor, and went to rejoin the semicircle of Aurors that had gathered again.

He stepped back from the circle a bit. It was uncomfortable. The circle reminded him of a different circle surrounding a different person almost four years ago. That circle had been made of Death Eaters, and they had been surrounding Tom Riddle then.

"You all know what to do," Robards said laconically, suggesting he himself didn't quite know what they were meant to do. "We'll begin our walk at three."

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Harry when at two, not three, he was shaken roughly by his shoulders and told to get out of bed. There was no need for the shaking really; he hadn't slept a wink all night.

"Nervous, Harry Potter?" Thymus asked. "We're leaving, by the way."

"I'm not going to lie," Harry said shrugging.

Once Thymus had left the room, Harry hurried to gather up the few things he had brought along with him. He tucked two galleons, his invisibility cloak, an extra pair of warm, woolen socks — as Dumbledore had told him, one can never have enough pairs of socks, a handful of ton-tongue toffees, and his wand into the pockets of his cloak.

He was glad he brought his heavier winter cloak along, for when the group stepped outside into the October night, they were met with a brisk, frigid wind that whipped them in every direction.

"It's going to be a long walk," said Ellen, fastening a few more of the silver clasps that attached to her coat. "Scarf?" she asked. She pulled out two identical scarves, silver and green striped. Ellen had been a Slytherin. The thought didn't make Harry bat an eyelash. In the past year, he had moved past all the nonsense surrounding the different houses.

Harry took one of the scarves from her, grateful for the extra warmth and protection against the harsh gusts.

They began to walk. It was a long torturous journey up the cobblestone pathway around Hogsmeade and to Hogwarts, and it wasn't necessarily the walking part that made Harry uncomfortable.

It was the first time he would be back at Hogwarts since the battle. Hogwarts had been so many things to Harry in the past years. A refuge. A school. A house. A home. A battlefield. He was raised there. He had cried there. He had shed blood there. He had died at Hogwarts.

The mere thought of returning to the place where he died did scare him. He'd be a fool not to admit at least that. He kept reminding himself over and over that Hogwarts was his home. It would always be.

They kept walking, well into the night. Harry felt his wrist for the watch Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gotten him for his seventeenth. He realized he had taken it off in the evening, before he went to bed. It left an empty spot on his arm. Even though he had no meter of time, judging by the darkness of the sky and the distance they had covered, he would guess they had been walking for three or four hours.

About an hour ago, clusters of trees started forming to the left of the pathway. They were the trees of the Forbidden Forest. They had to be getting closer now.

He glanced up. His eyes were shielded from the wind by the panes of his glasses, but he still squinted against the breezes. He saw that everyone's faces were now whipped to a bright pinkish blue, and some were using their arms to cover themselves from the wind.

A sloppy wet drizzle started to fall, dampening things. Harry performed a continuous cycle of drying and warming spells on his cloak, but those only did so much.

Suddenly the group stopped, and Harry almost rammed into the back of Ellen's soaking wet figure before coming to a halt then sliding a bit on the moss ground.

"We're here," Robards said even though it was obvious they were there. Even though they were where they were supposed to be, Harry had no idea where that was. They were somewhere on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps this was the road where they had found Stan Shunpike's body. Couldn't be.

"Let's split into groups of threes and start our search. We're looking for anything out of the ordinary" — obviously — "and more specifically people that aren't meant to be in the Forest," Robards said, repeating the directions Harry had heard Kingsley explain in so much more detail and eloquence.

"Unusual people, unusual objects, check, check," Ellen muttered under her breath. "Then get Robards fired for being a total dolt, check.

Harry let out a breathy laugh and saw a cloud of steam form under his nose.

The Aurors were divvied up into three groups of three, and Robards insisted on joining Ellen and Harry.

"Let's go this way," he commanded, leading them in the opposite direction of the other two groups, off the beaten path between the trees.

"Let's go," Ellen said. Robards started walking. Ellen looked back and rolled her eyes gesturing toward him. Harry followed the two of them, not sure what else to do.

They continued walking. That seemed to be the main point of the assignment: to walk oneself to the bone. Harry thought he was doing a pretty good job of it.

Searching became easier as the black of the night faded and the pinks and purples of the rising sun cast a rosy glow over the mossy bed of the forest. It was still raining and cold, and Harry had long since abandoned the cycle of drying and warming his robes. Even though it was now lighter outside, it was still difficult to see beyond the droplets of water that landed on his glasses and past the dense amount of fog that blanketed the forest.

"Do you really think these people are going to be out during the daytime?" Ellen asked. "If I were searching for something and didn't want to get caught doing it, I'd make sure to search during the night."

Robards sighed. "We have to follow orders and we aren't going to stop searching for them until we've found them."

"Whom are we searching for anyway?" asked Ellen. "Hasn't Kingsley told you any of this?"

"I don't — he doesn't — I just wish — confidentiality," Robards said. By now Harry was certain he wasn't going to be head of the Auror office for much longer. Whatever he was withholding, it was for no other reason except to ensure he knew something they didn't.

"Confidentiality? Bullocks!" Ellen cried. "We're Aurors walking through the middle of a forest with absolutely no one in it. Who could we possibly tell?"

Robards sighed again, scratching a large lumpy gash on the side of his face. "Do you remember over the summer when all of those falsely accused convicts escaped from Azkaban?"

Both Ellen and Harry bobbed their heads up and down.

"Well . . ."

"But what would they be doing _here_?" Ellen asked.

Robards shrugged. "We don't even know if they _are_ here. That's why we're here to investigate. If only we had like a map of the forest or something."

Harry opened his mouth then closed it. What Robards didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and he had a feeling if Robards knew about the Marauders' Map Harry wouldn't be in possession of it for very much longer.

"Got something you need to say, Potter?" Robards asked gruffly.

Harry shook his head, no. Then deciding against it he said, "I think I have a solution to our problem."

Robards laughed, almost mockingly. "You?" he asked condescendingly, using his extra height to look down at Harry like he was a child.

Harry shrugged. He wouldn't tell Robards anything Robards didn't want to know.

"Okay, moving on," Robards said dismissively. "I think it's time for breakfast."

He pointed his wand at a patch of fallen leaves and dried them with his wand. From his cloak he extracted a small pouch containing bread, cheese, apples, and a flask of butterbeer. Harry picked at the crudely constructed meal, and took small sips of the butterbeer as the flask was passed among the three of them. He leaned back against a tree, taking the weight off of his legs and groaning.

"You'll want to eat," Ellen murmured. "Even if you're not hungary. You never know when you'll get to eat again."

So Harry ate. He at least attempted to finish his portion of the meal.

After he ate, Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the sun had already risen to the middle of the sky. It was still wet, but the rain had stopped. The fog still lingered and the dry patch of leaves the trio had been occupying was now wet again. Harry tugged his wet cloak tighter around him, shivering against the cold.

He remembered a spell Hermione often used to use at Hogwarts, on cold, wintry days. Straining to remember the incantation, he finally conjured a small blue ball of fire and slipped it into a now empty jar that had contained the slices of cheese that they had devoured for breakfast.

Robards and Ellen were both asleep, propped comfortably against the base of an enormous yew.

Harry didn't wander far, a couple hundred meters maybe. He scanned the surrounding trees for any sort of movement. He saw plenty of movement, but it was mostly birds, squirrels, and the occasional bowtruckle. He contemplated whether he should go get the map or leave it to Robards. There were pros and cons no matter which way he sliced it.

It was October tenth. Ginny's first Quidditch match was today. Harry felt a twinge of guilt overcome him. He wouldn't be there. He prayed Ginny would understand.

Ginny had called Harry too extreme. He knew he was. He knew he acted rashly, impulsively, and instinctively, and he wasn't always right. Usually, but not always. This time he was going to follow her advice and sit back. He wouldn't worry anyone with the map. It hadn't been that great of an idea anyway.

Harry stuck his hand in his pocket and rubbed the cloak between his fingers as a friendly reminder that it was there. Clutching his jar of fire — it wasn't nearly as bright or elemental as Hermione's, but it was warm — he walked on, turning to go back to the clearing.

"Where did you go, Potter?" Robards growled angrily. "Do you think you get special treatment just because you're _Harry Potter_?" He emphasized Harry's name, and Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Stick with the group or don't bother returning."

"I just," Harry began.

Ellen shook her head. "Just go with it," she mouthed. Harry wondered why she was siding with Robards.

"Honestly, sir, I only went about a hundred meters," Harry said.

"Honestly, Harry, stay with us or you're off the mission," Robards said gruffly. "Let's go." They continued walking.

* * *

Bill rubbed his eyes and opened them. Slowly the front of Shell Cottage came into focus. He clutched a crumpled piece of green parchment in his hand.

The sun was setting behind the cottage, and the lights were on inside of it. He could see Fleur's silhouette behind the curtains of the kitchen window. She was standing at the kitchen sink, probably washing dishes or chopping vegetables. She did too much for him, and now this.

He didn't have to tell her tonight. She had been so happy recently.

Bill chucked the piece of parchment away from himself as far as it would go. As paper doesn't usually go far, the ball landed feet from him, almost mocking him. He took a few steps toward the house, paused by the paper, and picked it up again. Then he continued up the sandy walkway. He paused to shove open the side door — it stuck sometimes.

Fleur was there as usual, looking gorgeous as usual. She hurried to take off his cloak and engulf him in the usual hug and kiss welcome home ritual.

"What is zat?" she asked softly as he removed his arms from her. She gently slid her hand to his and tugged the piece of parchment free. Bill stepped back a few steps. "This letter is to convey the termination of William Arth — oh."

"It'll be okay," Bill said. She tucked her head down. "We'll make it through."

This time it was Fleur's turn to chuck the piece of paper away in disgust. She threw it out the open door and they watched it roll in the wind down to the shore and out toward the ocean.

"Urgh! WHY!" she screamed, extracting her wand from the folds of her dress. She pointed it at the paper, now far down by the crashing waves, and it exploded with a fiery bang.

* * *

A/N: Hi . . . bye. Wait — before you leave — here's a glass of milk and a hug. Don't worry; it's on the house.

* * *

**Sammie**


	19. The Quiet Life

**Chapter Nineteen  
****The Quiet Life**

"Argh, no!" George screamed unconsciously. "It wasn't my fault! It wasn't!"

"No, sorry?" another voice said in confusion. "I've been jabbing you with my wand for a good ten minutes. You sleep like a bloody hippogriff."

George was faintly aware of the voice, but when he turned in both directions, he couldn't see anyone except for Fred.

"Why are you doing this?" he called out. "I-I can't help you! It's not my fault!"

"Come on, just wake up!" the voice called again. "Wait, are you dreaming?"

Fred was lodged under a rock at the other end of the corridor, but George couldn't reach him as fast as he was running. Fred was turning purple and crying out for help, but still George couldn't reach him. Then the ceiling caved in and they were both buried in an avalanche of fallen debris. George clawed his way to the top and sat there panting. There was nothing else he could do. It wasn't his fault.

From the caved in ceiling came the voice again. "Just open your eyes. Come on George."

He hadn't even realized they were closed, but he did as the voice said. He opened his eyes, and bright sunlight streamed into them from the open window. George rolled over groggily and found himself in his bed in his flat above his shop in London.

He blinked a few times to adjust to the light and Percy's figure came into focus, holding a wand aloft. George scrambled to sit up and stared at Percy, slightly embarrassed that his older brother had to wake him up from the same nightmare he had been having for the past week, ever since Harry and Ron had left the flat. He muttered something incomprehensible even to himself.

Instead of looking smug and patronizing, as George would have expected of his brother, Percy looked worried. His face was teeming with curiosity and concern.

"All right there?" Percy asked quickly.

George hastened out of his bed and aimed for the dresser, where he had laid out a set of clothes last night. Percy stood calmly near the bed, prodding it with his wand until the sheets remade themselves at a leisurely pace.

"What are you doing here?" George asked, turning away as he ungracefully jumped his way into a pair of pants. He wasn't sure why he was being so self-conscious around Percy of all people—heck, they'd bathed together when they were younger—but he suspected it had something to do with Percy finding out he was still having childish nightmares, five months after the fact.

"Er . . ." Percy's voice trailed off absent-mindedly, "oh yeah, it's almost Halloween."

"Mmmhmm," George said, buttoning up the front of his shirt.

"And that means Mum's birthday," Percy pressed.

George reached for the navy blue jacket that was folded neatly on top of the dresser. The sun from the open window cast a square of light in the center of the room where he was standing. It warmed his back. "Yeah, right," said George. He wondered what point Percy was trying to reach, considering he had never been a big birthday celebrator.

"It's her fiftieth," Percy said. George could see through the mirror resting on wall that Percy was staring at him, eyebrows raised and hidden behind his shaggy fringe.

"Yes, what's your point, Perce?" George said, turning and simultaneously zipping his jacket.

"Well aren't we going to do anything?" Percy asked, taken aback.

"Let's see. Charlie's gone. Harry's gone. Ron's gone. Ginny's gone. Hermione's gone," George ticked off the names, raising one finger each time, "so it'd be Mum, Dad, you, me, Bill and Fleur?"

"Well, yeah," said Percy sheepishly, "also Charlotte."

"Who's Charlotte?" asked George. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame his outrageous amount of puffy bed head. "Wait what happened to what's-her-name? Your other girlfriend, the one that wasn't Heather or that other girl. I forgot her name."

"Er, we broke up," explained Percy uncertainly. "I've been dating Charlotte for about a month now."

"Okay, I'm fine with whatever you're planning for Mum's birthday, but here's a small tip. Mum doesn't want to know that you've been going through women like packages of Cauldron Cakes. She doesn't want to spend her fiftieth with a girl that won't be here next week. Just lay off, okay?" George asked.

Percy stood there looking put out.

"Sorry, Percy, but it's the truth."

"S'okay. What are you looking so nice for?" Percy asked.

"Oh, er, I've got a—I'm meeting Alicia and Katie. And Angelina."

Percy looked interested but didn't hassle him.

Twenty minutes later George walked out of the damp and bitter October air and into the warmth of Mr. Palentino's bagel shop. He glanced around the nearly empty shop and then at the large clock, hanging above the cash register. He was fifteen minutes early.

George contemplated ordering a butterbeer, but decided that alcohol, even if it was only a little, wouldn't be the best thing for him right now. Instead he ordered a mug of hot chocolate and took a seat at a table in the corner of the shop.

He rested his head against the glass of the front window and closed his eyes for just a moment. The music in the background of the shop and the warmth coming from the stove wasn't impeding his linger in a soft, sleepy state. His head became heavy and rolled to the side against the collar of his coat.

The sound of jingling sleigh bells woke him. And he looked groggily to his left to see two figures coming through the door. George sat straight up and realized he was sweating. He removed his coat and pushed it gently under the table, then rubbed the last few traces of sleep from his eyes.

Alicia and Angelina were standing in the doorway with wind-whipped hair and rosy cheeks. They were both smiling, Alicia's more genuine than Angelina's, and they saw George almost instantly.

George leapt up from his seat and waved for them to come over. "Angelina, Alicia!" he said, giving them each a hug in turn.

"Hey George," returned Alicia. "Good to see you."

"Tired?" Angelina asked.

"A bit. I, er, didn't sleep well last night. Did you?" George asked.

"Last night? I suppose it was a good sleep," Angelina said slyly.

Angelina and Alicia both ordered and returned back to the front of the shop where George was sitting, now on the other side of the table, leaning against the brick wall instead of the cold, frosty window.

"How have you been?" George asked Angelina. "I haven't seen you since well . . ." he thought for a moment. It had been a long time. "I don't think I've seen you since the wedding."

"I've been around," Angelina said distantly. "And I'm good. Better."

There was a long pause taken up only by the sound of Alicia eating a bagel that smelled of cinnamon and warmth. George raised his mug to his face only to realize the hot chocolate was gone.

Angelina had her elbow on the table and her chin rested in her hand. She was staring out the front window at a little girl. The girl was attempting to pick out the finest jack-o-lantern at a stand on the street's corner, probably for her front yard on Halloween.

"Is the shop opening back up anytime soon?" Angelina asked finally.

"Well it's just me there right now," said George, eager to start up some sort of conversation, "but I am working on a few new projects and reworking a few old items. I need help though, before the shop is going to be anywhere close to opening again," he rambled. "Say, do you think you'd like to help? What are you doing these days anyway?"

"I can't," Angelina said quickly. George didn't miss the elbow to the ribs Alicia passed. "I'm sorry. I meant I've already got a job. I really don't have time for anything else now." This was met with another shove from Alicia. "What!" Angelina snapped harshly.

The conversation trailed into the afternoon, mostly stimulated by Alicia and George. Angelina was quiet, especially compared to her normal bubbly self. They exhausted all of their topics, Quidditch, Hogwarts, the shop, _the Daily Prophet_, until they were reduced to their own musings and the lethargy of feeling full.

"So where did you say Katie was again?" George asked, twisting his empty mug between his fingers.

"With Neville," Alicia sighed, "things aren't working out. They've been fighting. She thinks he might end it tonight."

"Is that okay?" asked George, looking at Alicia. She was staring at her lap. "Didn't you say they didn't really like each other?"

"Well yes, but they didn't start dating for nothing," Alicia said.

"She wants what everyone wants," Angelina spoke up. George turned his attention to her and looked into her deep brown eyes, "which is to be loved."

"I'd better go check on her now that I think about it," Alicia pondered. "If they did end it, she'll need comforting."

The three walked outside onto Diagon Alley and into the harsh winds that were whipping down the street. George shielded his face as he pulled on his coat and turned to Alicia and Angelina.

"I'll see you 'round I suppose," George said to Angelina.

She nodded. "See you," she said bumping her cheek against George's and walking away.

"Wait," George said, pulling Alicia's arm back as she started to walk with Angelina, "I wanted to let you know something." She raised her eyebrows in interest, and George continued, "the dreams, they're back. Ever since Ron left, I've been living alone, and the dreams are back. Just thought I'd let you know."

Alicia looked steadily at him for a few thoughtful seconds. "If you're around the people you love the dreams are gone. Surround yourself with the people you love . . . and also, Ang needs a friend right now. She's been quiet for months. I'm not the friend she needs."

"You want me to help her?" George asked.

"No," Alicia said. "I think you should help each other."

George stared at her as he tried to make sense of what she had just said. Then the realization hit him like a sack of bricks and he wheeled around and started jogging into the crowd of pedestrians littering the street. He finally spotted her as she darted onto a rarely travelled side street. Taking a few longer strides to catch up, George turned onto the rarely travelled side street. He saw Angelina sitting against a brick wall with her head between her knees, breathing quick breaths in and out.

George hurried toward her and sat down beside her. Angelina turned to face him and he saw that her eyes were glassy; tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks.

"I-I don't know why I'm like this," she said. Her voice quivered uncontrollably. She pressed her fingers below her eyes and looked up, as if trying so stop the tears from coming.

"Yes you do," George said slowly.

"I don't cry," Angelina said shivering, "but everything you do reminds me of-of Fred! You look exactly like h-him. And you say the same things he would have said." She swallowed thickly and sniffled. "I miss him."

"Yeah, me too." They sat in sniffly silence until George spoke up again. "Hey, Percy is throwing a birthday party for my parents. Do you think you'd like to come with me? It might help cheer you up."

"I really can't," Angelina said, standing up. "It's not just you George. All of you are too much like him."

"So what, you're just going to avoid us forever?" George asked. "Come on, it's a simple party. Me, you, Percy, Bill and Fleur, and my parents."

"I can't, George," Angelina persisted firmly.

"Please," George pleaded. "It's not like we'll be dating or anything. We'll just be there as friends."

"Don't make me, George," she whispered. "I've had a tough enough time as it stands now. I'm sorry. Goodbye."

And with that, she pivoted on ball of her foot and continued walking down the street.

* * *

Bill was curled against the back of the couch. His cheek was pressed to the naked glass of the freezing window and his eyes were plastered on the ocean, swaying to the ebb and flow of the morning tide.

He was used to being busy. The sudden increase in time on his hands and the monotony of having nothing to do all day was uncomfortable for him, Fleur was aware. He wasn't just lying around all day—he helped with the chores, took on cooking lunch, and even started on the laundry list of small renovations and things that needed fixing around the house—but Fleur knew he was always happier when he had a few curses to break, a duel to fight, strategizing to do, or a couple hundred owls to answer before tomorrow. It was like that with all the Weasleys. Never complacent with the quiet life.

Fleur stared in almost pity at him as he sat there. She had to get him off of the couch and back to doing something.

She had a few ideas of what, or whom rather, would keep their hands full, but they were waiting. It wouldn't be a good time to have a baby now anyway with no money currently coming in. They were stable and wouldn't need to start pinching pennies for at least a few months, but babies were expensive. And out of sheer boredom was no reason to have one.

Slipping silently across the floor in a pair of woolen socks, Fleur sat on the couch and burrowed her way into the nook made by Bill's outstretched arm. She allowed herself a smile.

For some reason; despite all the drama being volleyed around surrounding Gringott's, work, and children; Fleur and Bill had reached a place that felt familiar, like the days when they were first dating. Communication had been easy then; it was easy now. Bill moved Fleur's hair off of her neck and pressed his lips softly against her shoulder. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm and said. "Your hair smells nice."

"Sweet nothings," she laughed. Bill had always loved the smell of her hair.

"I've got a poem for you."

"A poem?" Fleur asked, leaning closer.

"A really sweet one," he said, clearing his throat in a professional manner. "A-ahehem. Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you."

"Brilliant," Fleur said rolling her eyes and smiling. "Never heard that one before."

Fleur had never realized how loud the ocean was until now. There it was crashing against the sand and filling the void left by their lack of speech. The steady waves lulled her into a lovely sort of hypnosis, so she very nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang.

Bill looked at Fleur in confusion. They rarely got visitors, and if they did, it was almost always family. Fleur couldn't even remember the last time a non-family visitor had visited—on second thought, yes she could. She shuddered at the thought.

They both got up from the couch and shuffled over to the door.

"Who is eet?" Fleur asked.

"Er," Bill peered through the door curtain, "McGonagall? What is she doing here? You didn't invite her did you?"

Fleur shook her head, no, as Bill cracked open the door for his old Transfiguration professor. "Er, hello. Come in."

McGonagall smiled briefly and beat her heels on the welcome rug before stepping over the lip of the door.

Fleur snuck back to the kitchen. She threw open the cupboards and took out three china teacups, placing them on the cork tray they had used for breakfast that morning. She threw a kettle of water on the hob and leaned back against the counter, straining to hear their muffled voices in the entryway.

After the initial "hello, it's nice to see you again" routine, their voices became louder as Bill led Minerva to the sitting room, most likely. Fleur slipped her shoes, resting in the corner under a stool and on top of this morning's edition of the Daily Prophet, onto her feet and walked through the kitchen archway.

"Hello, Ms. Delacour," said Minerva, extending her hand for Fleur to shake. "It's lovely to see you again."

"And you as well." Fleur sat next to Bill on the couch across from McGonagall and placed her hand on his knee.

"I've just heard the news," McGonagall said, a stern frown pulling at her mouth and knitting her eyebrows together. Bill tensed underneath her fingers, obviously not in the mood to talk about Gringott's. No one would be. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault I think. Goblins have a mind of their own. They're not always kind, but in their minds, they're always justified. It's unfortunate when justification tampers with our lives."

Bill nodded slowly.

"That's what I came here to talk to you about," McGonagall said, continuing on briskly. Minerva rarely dawdled. "I've been looking to fill a Defense Against the Dark Arts position, and I want you." She smiled timidly. "That position has been a beast to fill ever since Quirrel took it."

"Do people still believe in that curse?" Bill asked.

Minerva smiled wryly. "People are believing what they want to be believing right now."

"That's an enormous offer, Professor." Bill said, fidgeting on the couch. "How did you even know about, er, me?"

"Word travels fast around Hogwarts," Minerva said with a tight-lipped smile that could have easily been a grimace.

"So what am I? Your last resort?" Bill joked. He cheeks flushed slightly pink.

"I'm not going to deny it," McGonagall admitted, "but Quirrell, Lockhart, and Snape were all 'last resorts' too, if that changes anything."

"Dead, mental, resigned, locked in a trunk for a year, stampeded by centaurs then sacked, runaway, currently rotting in Azkaban," Bill ticked off the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors on his fingers. "Sounds like fun. I suppose I'll have my work cut out for me."

"Tea, professor?" Fleur asked, getting up. She figured she would give Bill and Minerva a few minutes to talk things over in private. She needed some air anyway.

"Why, yes, thank you," McGonagall said, sitting up straighter on the couch.

She heard their voices as she returned to the kitchen to prepare the tea. It was a big offer. Bill wouldn't be bored anymore. They could actually pay bills. And the hours, eight to six-ish, weekdays only, and an entire summer holiday, they weren't terrible. There would still be plenty of kinks to work out though, if they were going to make this happen.

* * *

Three consecutive days. Three consecutive mornings waking up from the same dream. George woke up today with a parched throat. He had probably been screaming.

He headed toward the kitchen and filled a cup with a glass of water, sucking it down in one drink. Then he leaned back against the counter, panting for no apparent reason.

George consulted the calendar tacked to the wall to see what day it was. It was the thirtieth and also his mum's birthday. Percy would probably be coming by soon to consult with him about the birthday party. George had absolutely no clue what Percy was planning on doing; for the past few years he had neglected to even send Molly a prewritten card that was a sickle a pop.

From the front door of the shop, he heard the doorbell and then an insistant knocking. There was Percy now. George took his own sweet time getting down the stairs, head still throbbing from the night's dreams.

When he reached the bottom of the steps he didn't see Percy but a small girl with wavy blonde hair and rosy cheeks. He walked faster to the door and opened it to let her in.

"Verity?" asked George, "what are you doing here?"

She smiled, one of her front teeth barely overlapping the other. George thought it was kind of adorable. "I was in town and heard you'd returned to the shop. Thought I'd stop by and say hello."

"Well come in," George said instantly. They stepped a little farther into the shop. He watched as Verity scrutinized what had become of the place, turning and looking everything up and down. "I know it's kind of a mess now but—"

"It's just in need of a little sprucing up," Verity said brightly. "When are you planning on opening again?"

George puffed out his cheeks and blew out. "Oh I don't know. I haven't been working too hard on it. No help you see."

"Well I can help with that," Verity said. She quickly started rambling off suggestions and flitting around the main room, pointing at things and gesturing at George to follow her. He tried to pay attention, but his mind was drawn elsewhere as he followed Verity around the shop.

"Ver?" he asked, suddenly stopping by a musty collection of muggle playing cards. She stopped too and looked back at him inquiringly. "You know my mum, right?"

Verity nodded. "Yes, she and I had a lovely conversation the first time she visited the shop."

"Well it's her birthday tonight and my brother, Percy, is throwing her a party. I was wondering if you'd be my date?" George asked. If Angelina wasn't going to come, he could at least bring someone.

"Oh," Verity blushed bright red, "er, of course. That would be nice. I'd love to."

* * *

George had just finished getting ready when the doorbell rang. He assumed it was Verity and grabbed his jacket and the small bundle of azaleas he had conjured with his wand only minutes before.

Stepping lightly down the stairs he finished putting on his jacket and peered across the room toward the windows and into the setting sun. It was hard to tell who was standing outside.

"Alicia? Ang? What are you two doing here?" George asked in confusion.

"Lucky for you I managed to talk some sense into Angelina," Alicia said, nearly dragging Angelina inside behind her. In the light, George saw that Angelina was looking very pretty in a blue jumper and floral skirt.

"Er, here," George said, knowing immediately what she had come for. He handed her the flowers, and she smiled halfheartedly as she accepted them. "You can come too if you want, Leesh."

"No thanks, I've got plans tonight," Alicia said. "You two have fun."

"Wait, plans doing what?" George asked curiously.

"Plans doing dinner with Ondre," Alicia said.

"Right." George had almost forgotten about Alicia's strange relationship with Ondre Ollivander. He didn't understand it in the least. "Right, do you want to go upstairs, Ang? I just got a-a few things I have to, er, clean up before we leave."

She nodded and rushed up the stairs. George pressed his nose to the glass of the shop trying to see out into the darkness and catch Verity before she came inside. Finally he saw her striding toward the shop in a swaying yellow dress. Her blonde hair was pressed straight and fell in a loop over her right shoulder. She had really dressed for the occasion.

George tried to open the door without making it squeak, as old doors were prone to do. He slipped outside.

"Hi," he greeted Verity bumping her cheek and putting his hands on her delicate little shoulders. She looked up at him and grinned bashfully.

It was the night before Halloween and one of the prettiest times of year on Diagon Alley. On the eve of Halloween, the street was ready for the following days and nights that marked Halloween, and all was quiet. Carved fruits sat out on the windowsills and porch steps, in their candled glow. Bewitched skeletons wouldn't start scaring till dusk tomorrow night. Black cats prowled the streets, and flitted into sight from alleyway to alleyway just long enough to induce a shiver. The calmness of the night was chilling too. The moon, dangerously close to full, hung low in the sky, much too close to Earth. Barely a soul dared venture on Diagon Alley on this particular night.

George gave an involuntary shake that had nothing to do with the temperature outside and gestured for Verity to follow him inside. He led her to the back room, where they could talk without being overheard.

"I'm really really sorry, Ver," he started. She instantly looked down at her feet and held her fingers together, "but someone showed up last-minute, and I-I think I need to take her. You remember Angelina Johnson, Fred's girlfriend?" She nodded. "She needs a friend right now."

"I understand," Verity said without looking up. A miniscule amount of jealousy flavored her voice. "You're a good guy, George, you know that?"

"I wish I could have taken you," George said as close to genuine as he could manage. "Will you wait here for me? We can still have our date." She nodded again.

* * *

All in all it was a good birthday. Molly would have been fine with simplicity, but Percy had other plans, and that was all right. She suspected he was trying to make up for "lost" time, though she had specifically told him she wanted to go back to the way things were before their falling out. Percy was her son; he had nothing to make up to her.

It was a small gathering compared to usual Weasley get-togethers: Percy, Bill, Fleur, George, and Angelina. Molly kept her eye on Angelina and George. At first it had seemed they were going as a couple, but after scrutinizing them during the first part of their night, it didn't seem that way. While the best of friends, the two just didn't have the spark that Fred and Angelina had had when they were together.

They walked down Diagon Alley away from Gringott's. The group stopped in front of a fancy restaurant Molly had only dreamed about eating at, years ago when she was a teenager. The food was even better than she'd imagined it would back then, and her night was only made better because her children were there. She had missed them dearly the past few months, and the owls she'd gotten from them didn't fill the holes they'd left in her heart when they left. And it was nice to not have to cook for once.

After eating she was showered with presents, much to her embarrassment. Bill and Fleur gave her a pair of fancy new knitting needles, "the gift that keeps on giving," they called it. George gave her a selection of candies, "don't worry, Mum, they're all normal. They're not going to make your tongue swell or anything."

When she unwrapped Percy's gift, she found, to her astonishment, a silver necklace with flecks of gold peeking through and teeny tiny diamonds sprinkled in between the links of the chain.

"Percy you didn't have to do this," Molly said.

"Oh yes I did," Percy said, blushing bright red at the incredulous stares the table cast him. "Really, Mum, put it on."

Molly was reluctant to do so, almost on the verge of telling Percy to take it back, but Arthur slid he chain around her neck and handed her a silver spoon so that she could see her reflection in it.

"It's gorgeous," she breathed, fingering the dainty little chain around her neck and feeling like she wasn't worth all the trouble it had probably been to get it.

After that Percy took them to a muggle building called the theater, and they watched something called a film. It was like watching a picture that actually had a plot and a story to tell. Overall, Molly was fascinated by Mulan, and she knew Arthur was fascinated with people-watching.

After the movie, Molly was pretty tired. Having nothing left to do, they wrapped things up with ice creams from a muggle ice cream shop—Molly had to admit that muggle ice cream was definitely better than the stuff they sold in Diagon Alley.

"It was excellent, Percy, thank you," Molly giving Percy a big hug. She looked into his eyes and saw a wistful sort of sadness.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I just wanted it to be perfect. I know I haven't send you a card in years."

"It _was, _dear," Molly insisted, hugging him again. "Perfectly perfect, Percy. Just like you." If she only knew.

* * *

"Ver," he breathed as he walked up the last few steps and into the flat. She was propped against the window that faced Diagon Alley and her face was cloaked in the light of the moon.

He collided against her, his lips crashing against hers with urgency. She collapsed against the wall and let herself be kissed. George squeezed her body closer as they tumbled to the mattress.

He didn't need anything from her that was more than a distraction, a reason to stay awake, and an incentive to not dream. They didn't do anything more than kiss, but George made damn sure that he didn't fall asleep that night. What worked for Percy would surely work for him.

* * *

A/N: Happy back-to-school and stuff. Let me level with you; I didn't finish my summer reading. Reading a book told from the point of view of a prince's id in the form of an all-knowing dwarf just doesn't interest me in the least. Shame on me.

* * *

**Sammie**


	20. November Blues

**Chapter Twenty  
****November Blues**

Potions was usually one of the less painful classes Ginny had to endure in her day. Today they were brewing the elixir of exhaustion. If done properly, it would knock out a fully matured troll the moment it touched his lips. Unfortunately, it had to be brewed at a sweltering heat, and the potions classroom, albeit big and ventilated, turned stuffy and humid quickly. Almost everyone had cast aside their robes and hung them on the far wall of brass hooks, but even in their lightweight shirts and pants it was stifling.

Ginny pushed her sopping hair off of her forehead and managed to find a couple of spare hair-slides to pin back her hair. The mixture of heat and a layer of purple smog that lingered about the air made her feel very tired.

"You should be pounding not battering the pentleigh bean, Miss Weasley," pointed out Professor Slughorn as he walked around the classroom, examining the potions. What was the difference between pounding and battering, exactly? "Good work Miss Granger."

"Yeah, I would never admit this to Harry or Ron, but I kind of wish I had Snape's potions book right now," Hermione whispered. She let out a long yawn, and Ginny joined in. "That way I wouldn't fall a-a-asleep." The last word trailed off as she yawned again.

Ginny laughed. "I just wish there was a potion to make my bones unbreakable. Twice in two months isn't exactly uplifting." She pointed to her leg, which was peaking out from under a pair of rolled up blue jeans. Of course it had been fixed up almost immediately, but it was still frail, slightly larger than her other ankle, and tinged a faint purple-green.

"Aw, don't worry, Gin," Hermione said comfortingly, "it's a good team."

"And how would you know this?" asked Ginny with a smile. "Since when do you know anything about Quidditch?" If she wasn't already tomato red from the heat of the room, Hermione would have turned it just then.

"Okay, I think I'm done," said Hermione, wiping her forehead with a hand towel and wafting the potion toward herself to smell it. She gagged slightly. "Definitely done." The potion smelled like rotten eggs and troll bogeys.

While Hermione filled a short flask with the muted purple potion, Ginny tried to make hers match in color. Right now hers was more blue than purple and sizzling like it was about to explode.

"I'd try a dash of anise if I were you," Hermione said, raising the cylindrical flask to her eyes.

Ginny looked at the four different herbs sitting out on the table and tried to decide which was which. "Have you gotten an owl from anyone lately?"

Hermione frowned slightly. Her eyebrows were knit closely together. "My parents. They want me home for Christmas."

"You're coming to the Burrow for Christmas, right?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. My parents and I have just started talking again. You know, really talking. Not the hollow conversations we used to have. I don't want to mess with our relationship. Have you heard from Harry?"

"No," Ginny said faintly, "probably on an Auror mission, out saving the world." She still wasn't entirely over the fact that he didn't show up for her first Quidditch match. "Any news from Ron?" she asked, referring to the three or four hours that she had spent in the hospital wing. Ron and Hermione had mysteriously disappeared during that time.

Hermione turned slightly pink. Ginny could see some anger and fear brewing below the surface of her eyes. "He's part of the team that's trying to find Turpin."

"The auror that escorted you to Australia?" Ginny asked. Hermione nodded. "That's great."

Hermione shrugged and nodded again. She gathered a cloth around her smoking flask and gingerly picked it up. Staring in to the murky depths of her own potion, Ginny decided that, although it was more of a shimmery indigo, it was time to turn it in. She poured hers crudely into a flask and levitated it up to the front of the classroom, then returned to her workstation to clean up the enormous mess she'd made.

When the entire class was tidied and the purple smoke cleared from the room, Slughorn walked up to the front, stood in front of his desk, made a few throaty grunts akin to clearing his throat and said, "listen up! After class we'll all be returning to our own common rooms and we'll be staying there until your head of house informs you otherwise. It's important that you _stay in your common room, _or else you could potentially be risking us all and facing serious consequences. Thank you." He tipped his head and tottered back toward the door.

"One thing I dislike about Abbey Alver," Hermione hissed as they followed the rest of the red and gold tied students through the clogged hallways of the school, "is that they never explain _anything_!"

"They may rely on word of mouth a bit too much," Ginny agreed. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Confused yet?" Irene said with a helpful smile. She pulled Ginny's arm, and they broke away from the stream of the crowd. Hermione and Tessie emerged from the blockade of black robes behind them.

Hermione was protesting, "but last time something like this happened, I got attacked by a Scottish mountain troll!"

"That's not going to happen, Hermione. There aren't any Scottish mountain trolls in America," Tessie said sarcastically, dragging Hermione by the sleeve of her robes. Hermione agreed unwillingly.

They swept down a narrow, unused corridor and reentered a throng of young and heavily made up Abbey Alver girls. Shoving their way past the giggles, Ginny followed Irene's blonde ponytail as it weaved through the crowd of students returning to their dormitories.

They finally stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous portrait of a squat young man in a pair of coveralls and holding a pitchfork.

"Laramy, are you going to let us by?" Irene gushed, puffing out her lower lip and squinting her eyes just so. Their blueness popped against her pale skin. She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder and twisted her fingers through the ends of it.

Laramy, Ginny assumed it was the portrait's name, gave a shy grin and replied, "Well I really cain't Missus Eye-rene." Irene's pout became larger, and the corners of her eyes drooped. "Well I s'pose once cain't hurt, cain it? You owe me big time, sweetums!" With that he swung forward, and the tiny hole his portrait was covering up widened to let them in.

"Works on everyone," Tessie told Ginny. "She's been trying to teach me, but I can't get the sultry squint down pat." She scrunched up her eyes and waggled her tongue out between her teeth. She ducked to follow Hermione through the rectangular portrait hole.

"Wait! Wait up!" someone called from down the hall. Three figures were running toward them. They were Luna, Mickey, and surprisingly at least to Ginny, Dean. The trio caught up in a matter of seconds and Ginny ducked her head below the portrait hole.

She found herself in a room tiled from floor to ceiling with individually placed gold, taupe, and rose-colored tiles. There was an enormous basin the size of the Burrow's living room, sunk into the center of the room with at least a dozen golden taps pointed toward it. Pink linens hung from golden hooks across an entire wall of the room and large, rectangular sinks lined an adjacent wall. The entire room was basked in a dusky glow; the setting sun peeked through the tall windows and clusters of candles were suspended in the air in various points of the room. The candles smelled sweetly of lavender.

"Prefects' bathroom," Tessie explained. Even though her voice was loud, it didn't echo in the large washroom. "Obviously we're not supposed to be here as none of us are prefects except for Hermione, but Irene's squinty eye thing usually does the trick. Laramy a sucker for a pretty face."

"I can never get the lips right," Mickey joked, puffing his lower lip out pompously. His eyes wandered over to Irene, who was already sitting on the edge of the basin with her feet dangling down below her. She scooted her bottom over the lip of the basin and let gravity slide her down the side of the basin to nearly the middle. Mickey followed her, and soon after everyone else did the same. They made a tiny circle in the bottom of the stone tub, each clutching his or her legs together and resting his head on top of his knees.

"So what is going on?" Luna asked. She had separated her hair into three equal sections on the left side of her head and was weaving them together in a long, curly plait. "Call me eccentric, but I don't normally spend my time sitting in the bottom of an empty bathtub. Do you normally do this?"

Mickey smiled. "No, only once or twice a year, Lun." Luna blushed when Mickey called her the little nickname.

"What are we even doing in here?" Dean asked. His arms were crossed over the tops of his knees and his head was cocked to one side. "Why were we supposed to go back to our dorms?"

"Abbey Alver isn't the greatest at communicating things to those who don't know. The teachers rely too much on that whole 'word travels fast among students' thing," Mickey said, "it's excellent that you have us. But Tess'll explain it, she's the best storyteller."

"The founders of Abbey Alver weren't that smart," Tessie began, "either that or there was absolutely no other place for the school except here—for reasons no one knows. But the school was built here, and before it was built here there was nothing around here for miles except wheat fields and weeds. And a convention held every year between the Native American tribes of Pawnee, Kiowa, Kansa, and Osage—"

"How she remembers those names, the world may never know," Irene said with a smirk.

"Hey! No interruptions! And I've already told you my dad is a quarter Kiowa," Tessie explained.

"He's as Native American as I am a Scandinavian king," Mickey replied. "Continue though."

"Moving on," Tessie said in irritation, "The convention has been held since before the school was built, and we can't just go up to them and say, 'we're wizards, we rule, move,' so we have to do this."

"Why do we have to hide, though? Aren't there charms on the castle to make it unplottable?"

"Well yes," Tessie explained, "just like Hogwarts it looks like an old ruin of a castle to muggles. But if you were a muggle in the middle of Kansas and you happened upon an old, decrepit castle, wouldn't you want to look inside? Hiding out for the afternoon is just a precaution. Thanks to the two teachers that patrol the grounds we've never had a single muggle inside the castle. This convention is held twice a year: once on the second of November and then again on the second of May."

"Mmm," Ginny agreed. "So, er, what do we do now?"

Tessie and Irene gave a simultaneous shrugging of their shoulders.

"Ginny?" Dean asked. His voice was so soft that Ginny almost didn't hear it. He was sitting next to her and his hand brushed against the back of her elbow. Her anger at Dean had quelled significantly in the past few weeks, especially after they won two consecutive Quidditch matches against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

"What's up, Dean?" she asked.

Dean nodded his head toward the far wall. Ginny felt everyone's eyes on her as she scooted her legs up under herself and pushed up. She felt her ears go red and wished she'd worn her hair down today as she walked to the other side of the room with Dean. She heard Luna start up a very loud conversation about something, but she wasn't listening in.

Dean stared at his feet for a long time before speaking. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that . . . I just wanted to be," he sighed, "I wanted to be on your side."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "You are on my side, Dean. We're friends."

"No we haven't been," Dean said quickly. "We weren't friendly after we broke it off, and we weren't even friendly half the time we were dating. Sometimes I even despised you when we were dating."

"What?" Ginny asked in concern. "What are you talking about Dean? Why is so important for us to become friends if you despise me?"

"No! I don't despise you Ginny. Here sit," Dean said. Ginny sat down and crossed after legs. Dean followed her. "I didn't mean that. I didn't despise you. I don't know why I said that."

Ginny nodded, and Dean sighed. "I had a lot of time to think, Ginny, when I was on the run." His voice took on a much more serious tone, and Ginny could tell that he was digging into some memories he would rather push from his mind. She shivered slightly and tugged her knees up toward her chest.

"I thought about my mum and my deadbeat dad, and I don't want that to happen to me and my kids," Dean explained. Ginny was even more confused. "I had some crazy notion that if I did . . . that thing you talked about, then you would get back together with me. It was idiotic I realize."

"Sort of," Ginny said. Seeing the look on his face she rephrased, "I don't want to be your girlfriend, Dean, and I don't think you like me in that way. Why do you want to date me anyway?"

"I don't want to date you!" Dean said loudly. "You do remember how my mum didn't like you though? When I did . . . what I did, it was to get back at my mum, nothing else."

Ginny sighed loudly. She might have been more hurt if she didn't understand Dean's situation. Mrs. Thomas was a very traditional woman. Ginny knew Dean's mum never liked her and had never gotten the sensation she particularly admired him either. Ginny knew he had been fighting with her went he went into hiding. How could he not be? She wouldn't even tell him who his dad was. She wondered if they were still talking.

"It's okay, Dean," she said reaching out a hand to comfort him. "We're friends. Are you speaking to your mum?"

"No," Dean admitted, "I just can't forgive her for doing that to me. All she has to do is tell me his name and we'll be fine. I just need to know. I really am sorry, Ginny."

* * *

November passed in a haze of preparations. Preparing for N.E.W.T.'s, preparing for winter, preparing to return home. Those that would be spending the holidays back in Europe were frantically making arrangements with their parents, and those who would be spending holiday at the school were frantically wrapping parcels for friends and family.

As it was tradition in the United States, there was an enormous feast on the last Thursday of the month, and the turkeys that Hagrid had been taking care of for the entire semester were no more.

People were beginning to come to terms with the fact that they might not ever see each other again. They wouldn't see each other as often at least. Some were even brave enough to attempt to keep bicontinental romances aflame. First years were full of nervous jitters about returning to Hogwarts for second semester, for it was a new country, a new school.

And Hermione was filled with the nervous butterflies of seeing her parents again. Attempting to mend a tattered relationship wasn't easy, especially when that relationship was never wholly faultless to begin with. She wanted to see them again and be hugged by her father and kissed by her mother. She wanted them to see her as their daughter again, not the contrived role she had assumed in the past seven years.

Hermione also wanted them to know about Ron. There was a feeling growing inside her. She hadn't felt it with Krum and definitely not with Cormac McLaggen. It was faintly present in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes she felt it jab her when she thought about Ron. She wanted her parents to meet him.

Everything was uncertainly drifting through the air as of yet, because Hermione Granger was terrible at relationships. She was nervous that succeeding at one might destroy the other.

* * *

November was a slow month. Sometimes the days crept on in an endless passing of browning trees and counting the leaves that fluttered slowly from the branches. Even though the days were growing shorter, it felt like they were getting longer.

There was only one thing that Harry had concluded from his first Auror mission. Robards didn't have a clue what he was doing and was definitely in for it when they got back to the ministry. They had combed every square inch of the forest and found nothing. He was certain if they just had the map the job would have been finished two weeks ago. But Robards insisted they persist, despite the lack of information, and Harry obliged, knowing that if he left Robard's side, he would be fired before he could say he tripped.

With Kingsley, even though the ministry ran more smoothly, it was a far cry from perfect, and it would be even farther before the poison would be removed from the diseased mass that it was. If something drastic didn't change, the ministry would eventually snowball to its death at the bottom of a very long, very steep cliff.

The one thing that kept Harry sane was his newly found friendship with another Auror, Ellen. Her talent was her voice. It was a husky voice, but it soothed him and was calming when Robards was being unusually cretenous. It had a hint of reprimandation in it that always kept him in check. It was kind of like Mrs. Weasley's voice in that way. Voices could only get him through so much though, and Harry's patience was being held together by only a few fraying fibers.

They were walking through the forest. It wasn't necessary to say this, because it was the same thing they had been doing for the past month, and probably would be doing for two more months. Harry heard scuffles and the pounding of hooves. He had grown accustomed to the noises of the forest, and at this point, he was certain the centaurs that resided in it were either not going to show their faces, dead, or long gone, having fled sometime last year.

"Wait stop!" Robards said suddenly. Harry hadn't been paying much attention, but when his face brushed against the side of Ellen's large, curly hair, he nearly tripped trying to stop himself from smashing into her. She looked back at him with a smirk on her face. "We're not going any farther!" he announced authoritatively.

"And why not?" Ellen asked sharply.

"Look . . . tracks," he pointed to a few tiny hooves imprinted in stretch of mud that wasn't covered in dry, crunchy leaves, "do you fancy getting mauled by a centaur? Netiher do I. Let's go the other way."

"Wait a second!" Harry burst out angrily. "So we're leaving a whole part of the forest unsearched because you're scared of a centaur? It's probably where these people are hiding if that's the case."

Robards's back was turned, but Harry didn't fail to note the tensing of his shoulders. "Would you rather end up dead, Potter? You seem to fail to realize that when you're an Auror you can't just run around, recklessly seeing if your plans are good enough to save people. You've got to behave with more caution."

"Oh come on Robards—" Ellen began.

"What are you playing at?" Harry said, blood pulsed through his foot, and he had to clench his fists dangerously tight to keep from kicking something. "My _reckless_ schemes have worked better than wandering in the forest for a month and a half ever has!"

"Stop it, Potter, we're not going in there," Robards said, his voice suddenly much more serious. He tottered backwards a few steps. Harry remained apathetic.

"What's in there that's so dangerous that we can't enter? Is it the people we've been looking for?" Harry asked brazenly. "Are they just beyond these trees and we're not aloud to find them because that would mean your time as head of the Auror office would be over? Is it because you haven't kept up your end of the bargain with Kingsley and you'll be fired as soon he can get back in contact with you. If you just keep us out here till December I expect you'll get another month's pay, won't you? Won't you?"

Robards didn't say anything.

"You know what, Robards?" Harry shouted, knowing full well that every creature in the forest could hear them, even the ones that could probably devour them in a matter of minutes. "You disgust me."

He took a few steps toward the area.

"Stop!" Robards commanded. "If you go any farther than that you're fired."

"You might find this hard to believe, but I didn't become an Auror for the paycheck," Harry said. He continued walking past the trees, stumbling over the writhing roots and missing leaves.

"Stop it, Potter. A missing Auror won't help the ministry's image!" Robards screamed.

"You sodding wanker! Don't you understand anything?" he heard Ellen shout from far behind him. Harry saw her advance toward him out of the corner of his eye, but he was too focused on leaving the scene to try and stop her.

He shoved his way through a large bush and emerged in a clearing. The trees were thin and scattered and the hardened, frozen dirt of the once imperforated coat of leaves and moss poked through. Harry's eyes followed the scattered trees uphill a hundred meters or so. He started running, his feet pounding against the solid ground.

From the bush he had previously jumped through, he heard rustling, but his feet kept pulling him forward.

"Harry . . . Harry?" someone's voice called from behind him.

He reached the top of the hill and felt his breath deplete, not from the running. Before him was an expanse of brown grassy lawn and the astonishing eeriness of a castle cloaked in cloudy grey air, uninhabited and unused. Behind the grass was the impenetrable blue of the Black Lake and above it the blinding brightness of the clear sky. Harry had only caught glimpses of the sky in the past month. He hadn't realized how much he missed it.

The scene didn't even register at first. He gazed in awe at the castle, much the same way he did when he was eleven and seeing for the first time from a different angle. Whoever had been responsible for rebuilding the ruined school had probably done a magnificent job, but Harry could help the cynical thoughts that flitted across his mind as he stared at it. The new bricks looked too new. The ivory hadn't yet climbed up to the turrets of the reassembled towers. It was blatantly obvious what had been destroyed and what had been rebuilt. The new parts were too shiny and new to be what Harry called home. Perhaps some of Hogwarts's charm was lost in the battle.

But it was towards the castle that Harry ran for refuge; it was still home. He wasn't running away from Robards, simply running toward something else.

Harry kept running until his feet hit the pathway that led to the front door. He kept running until his swollen blue fingers hit the door and he crumpled inside. He was surprised to find Hogwarts so warm when there was no one but him inside of it. His heart pounded, nearly echoing off the walls. He doubted whether anyone, save a headmaster or two, had ever been alone in the castle. His body jumped pathetically when the great wooden front door crashed behind him. His feet echoed a million times over as he sprinted through the hallways. He knew not where he was going, only how he was getting there.

"I—need a place—to think! I need—a place to—think! I need a—place to think!" he screamed exasperated and out of breath at the wall walking past it thrice and pounding against the stone with the backs of his bare fists.

The door couldn't appear soon enough. He fumbled with the simple handle, jerking it open before he stumbled down to a dusty hardwood floor that hadn't been walked on in years.

Harry felt a sharp stabbing in his left hand. He groaned and leaned back against a row of vertical white slats. Something was protruding from his hand. He cringed as he removed the sharp thing. Though it was covered in blood, he could tell that it was a simple gold loop with a clear, modest diamond sticking out of it.

He used the edge of his cloak to clear the grime from his glasses. Then he tore a piece off to wrap his bleeding hand. He examined the object and wondered what it was doing here, on the floor.

For the first time Harry looked around the room he had entered and was very certain he was not at Hogwarts anymore. The room was painted a pale green. In it, there was a white crib, a changing table, and a big brown easy chair. Sheer white curtains rested over the windows, and they were fluttering forward to the rhythm of the wintry draft. Harry's breathing became heavy as he slowly lifted himself off the ground. The room looked like it hadn't been touched for years. His feet were obnoxiously loud across the floor of the room. Harry pulled back the window's curtains and nearly cried out.

Its glass was broken jagged as if someone was thrown unwillingly against it. The cold wind blew against his face. He recognized this place. He had been here a different time, staring up at it last summer, from the street below. This was his room. The ring was his mother's.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever. I've only got my spare time to go on, and right now, my spare time has been extremely sparse. Hope to hear from you though! Thank you so much for sticking with my sporadic little story.

* * *

**Sammie**


	21. Word of Mouth and Speech of Quill

**Chapter Twenty-One  
Word of Mouth and Speech of Quill**

Ginny returned to her room in a fluster that night. While she was sympathetic toward Dean, she couldn't pretend like he wasn't adding to her frustration. She needed to release her pent-up emotions before she exploded. She tore through her trunk searching for the little blue book with the bright buckle.

It wasn't in her trunk, it wasn't in laundry basket, and it wasn't hidden among any of the books she owned, shoved in the crick between the radiator and her nightstand. Much like the last time she had searched, her room was in shambles. The book couldn't have disappeared though.

She leapt onto her bed, and it was only then that she remembered where she had shoved the thing. Ginny tumbled off the bed hitting the ground with a thick thud. Her fingers trembled slightly as they peeled back her bedskirt. Her eyes scanned the underside of her bed, and she stretched her hand until it felt like it was going to break off. Her fingers struggled to pull the book back, but she eventually managed.

The gold lettering glittered up at her, spelling out the name she had gone by for seventeen years. Ginny flipped the book open to the second page, careful not to turn to the first. Faintly she could see Harry's handwriting scrawled out carefully on the other side. Her hand fingered the indents his quill made in the paper and her right hand slid over the smoothness of the page before her. She folded the book and the binding cracked backward with a satisfying snap.

Ginny grabbed her bag off her nightstand and dragged it toward her. Her hand searched the inside until it located a quill and a tiny inkwell. She opened the inkwell, dipped her quill in once and poised it over the second page of the diary. The austere blankness of the page glared up at her menacingly. It wasn't until a single drop of ink dripped from the point of her quill and splashed onto the page, spreading and drying into a tiny grey splotch that she started writing.

_Dear Harry,_

She thought for a long time, brain whirring with the many things she wanted to say. She wrote carefully and slowly, making sure the words she wanted to be on the page were each significant.

_I haven't been completely honest with you. Before you lose faith in me and jump to conclusions, which I know you'll do, I haven't done anything worth breaking up with me, and I've never once lied to you either. I just haven't been unwaveringly honest. You helped me realize that. Thank you._

From there, her quill glided across the page. Her heart beat quickly and at times she had to stop and take a break, panting from the ailments of her mind.

A long while, which can only be marked as fifteen written pages, later the dormitory door smacked open. Ginny's bones jumped out from underneath her skin. She surged to her feet, returning to the ninth floor of the west tower. She realized how peculiar she must look to Hermione, who was standing hesitantly on the edge of the door. Ginny's portion of the room was in complete disarray.

"Sorry. Did you say something?" Ginny asked, sweeping her hair off of her face and looking Hermione directly in the eye. She used her toe to sweep the blue book closed and under the bed.

"Is everything all right, Ginny?" Hermione asked slowly. She stepped inside the room, shut the door behind her, and pointed her wand at the knob. It locked with a soft click.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Ginny said quickly.

"No you're not," Hermione said. "Be honest."

"Fine, I'm a little lost," Ginny agreed. "But it can't be worse than what anyone else is feeling right now. I don't know why I'm having such trouble settling down. The troubles with Quidditch, and Dean, and McGonagall, and career choices, and-and Harry are making me more confused than I was even last year. I miss them so much, my family. I just want to go home and see them again."

"I understand," said Hermione.

"Aren't I a little too old to be getting homesick? Especially since I haven't been home in months," Ginny said, smiling weakly. Hermione moved to sit on the edge of Ginny's bed and patted the mattress next to her. "What do you do when you need to let it all out?"

Hermione sighed and leaned backward onto her back. Her head hit the mattress with a soft thump. She reached her hand up and pulled the end of Ginny's pillow until it reached her. She passed it to Ginny. "Scream," she commended.

"Er, what?" Ginny asked.

"You asked me what I did when I wanted to let things out," Hermione said. "I scream. Poor pillow takes the brunt of it, but it always works for me. If it helps, I promise I won't watch."

"I don't care," Ginny said. She hesitantly lifted the pillow to her face so that the world went dark and all she could sense was the smell of the clean pillow. And she screamed. The pillow muffled the noise, but she could still hear the loud throaty scream that came from her. She kept screaming until she had to come up for air. She took a shaky hoarse breath and shoved her face into the pillow again. The second scream was cut off abruptly. Ginny sat, breathing deeply for a couple of minutes. "I'm done. Thanks, Hermione," she whispered. Her throat was parched.

"Come on." Hermione led Ginny from the dormitory and down the stairs. "Let's get you some tea."

"Aren't you the founder of S.P.E.W.?" Ginny asked softly a few minutes later—her throat was still dry. They were standing in front of a portrait of a basket of bread; Ginny assumed it was the entrance to Abbey Alvers's kitchens.

Hermione nodded. "If you would just read the Abbey Alver Archives like I did you would know that there are no house elves in North America. Actually, there aren't any native witches or wizards."

"So so interesting, Hermione. I am enlightened. So who runs the kitchens then?"

"There are three chefs," Hermione explained. "And they're very nice. I talked to two of them when I came down here about a month ago to do research for the S.P.E.W. They have the same views as I do about the rights of elves."

"Fantastic," Ginny said. She had only joined S.P.E.W. five years ago because she was friends with Hermione and felt guilty.

Hermione knocked her hand softly against the still life. The picture swung open not a second later, and Hermione stepped into the kitchens, Ginny following. They were greeted with the warmth from two huge clay ovens and the lingering scents of that night's dinner.

"It's Granger!" a woman cried. She wiped her brow on a towel that was fished through her belt loop. Two men popped their heads out from a nook hidden from view by the ovens.

"Hermione?" one of them asked. "It is!"

They all gathered around Hermione. Ginny would have assumed, working in a kitchen all day, that the chefs would be larger than average but was surprised to find all three of them skinny as rope.

"This is Schwartz, Pfeiffer, and Sangamon," Hermione said pointing to each chef in turn. "This is Ginny Weasley."

"Miss Weasley!" the woman, Sangamon, cried excitedly. "What brings you two here?"

Ginny wondered if the three chefs were this enthusiastic for every guest they got. She wondered if they received very many visitors at all.

"Tea? Only if you're up for it," Hermione asked. "Ginny has got a slight case of the homesick woes."

"That still happens to me sometimes," the man Hermione had identified as Pfeiffer said. Ginny assumed he hadn't lived in the United States for very long, because he was clearly the youngest of the three chefs, and he spoke with a thick German accent.

Ginny hadn't even noticed Sangamon leave, but she emerged from another part of the kitchen holding a tray laden with a kettle, two teacups, and half a dozen chocolate chip cookies, still warm somehow.

"So what did you come up to the dormitory in the first place for?" Ginny asked, once the cookies had been doled out and the tea had been poured.

"Mmm!" Hermione said with a mouth full of cookie, untangling the folds of her robes and reaching into the pocket. She pulled out a tiny purple scroll with bronze tassels and passed it to Ginny. Ginny set down her teacup, took the scroll, and unrolled it between her pointer finger and her thumb.

"It's an invitation to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party?" Ginny asked uncertainly, staring the curly green ink spread across the page. Hermione nodded.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," Hermione said quickly. "I mean, I won't go if you don't want to."

"No, I'll go," replied Ginny. "I've been in need of a good party."

"Ginny?" Hermione asked, biting her lower lip.

"Yes?"

"I also wanted to tell you that . . . I'm going to be going to my parents' place for Christmas this year."

"Is Ron staying with you?" Ginny asked. Hermione nodded stiffly. "Oh."

* * *

Even as the wind from the wind blew freezing snow across his face, Harry wasn't cold. He had been frozen solid the past month, the only thing keeping him alive being the bluebell flames of Hermione's.

He thoughts turned to the more pressing matter. What was he doing at his parents' house? In his bedroom? Why wasn't he at Hogwarts anymore? He had only wanted a place to think.

"I suspect the room of requirement knows you better than you know yourself," a voice said from behind him.

Harry whipped his head around to see himself facing Ellen. She was hunched over, her right hand nursing her left arm. Harry could see that the robe was sliced open, and soaked in red.

"I'll be all right," Ellen said hastily.

"Was I talking to myself?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you through the room of requirement," Ellen said, her breath shallow from running. "So this is your house?"

"For lack of a better term," Harry said, fingering the little golden ring and dropping it into his pocket. "You're bleeding."

"You're bleeding," she replied, pointing to where the ring had cut him. "Robards tried to use Incarcerous to bind me, but it cut me instead. What happened to you?"

"Tripped," Harry lied, shaking his robe over his hand.

He sucked in his breath deeply, noticing for the first time, a spot behind Ellen where a little mirror hung on the wall. "This child is loved," it read in scripty gold handwriting. Beyond the mirror he saw himself for the first time in a long time. He was a shocking shade of purple and his beard had grown significantly across his face and down his neck. He looked mad.

"What now?" Ellen asked, standing in the middle of the room, facing the open window.

"Now, I think we should go to the minister," Harry said. "Walking around in that forest isn't going to help anyone at all."

"We can't do that," Ellen stated bluntly. "He'll sack us on the spot."

"No he won't," protested Harry, "he's in need of Aurors. He's still got Robards for crying out loud."

"Robards hasn't technically done anything wrong," Ellen exclaimed in exasperation. "On the other hand, we have broken oath. We were obligated to stay with Robards under his discretion." She slapped the balls of her thumbs against her temples and closed her eyes. Deep searing wrinkles creased in between her eyebrows.

"If you were so worried about getting sacked why'd you even follow me here?" Harry bellowed. He was suddenly very aware and made very self-conscious that she was standing in his parents' house.

"I don't even know, Potter!" Ellen cried.

"Listen, I have to get something, and then I'm going to go talk to Kingsley. You can either come with me or get out," Harry said tersely, pointing to the street just beyond the broken window.

His heavy cloak brushed against hers as he stalked past her. With one hand resting uncertainly on the door handle, he reached his other hand behind him. It wasn't until he felt her icy glove grasp his wrist that he disapparated.

* * *

George stretched and yawned, the first rays of young sunlight crawling through the dewy morning air and across his bedroom floor. He had always been the earliest riser of all the Weasleys, savoring the moments of solitude right before the rooster's crow announced the beginning of a new day.

He awoke to a sweet smell that lured him from under his bedcovers and across the flat. The smell wasn't coming from the kitchen, but there was a note sitting out on the table, tucked under a tiny cup of pumpkin juice.

_George— Gone to the apothecary to get the willow leaves. _—_Ver_

George sighed softly. He took the cup of pumpkin juice and sipped it as he slipped down the stairs and into the back room of the shop. He set the empty cup on the banister of the staircase and headed into the back room to see what the smell was.

He found a tiny cauldron hovering over a cold blue flame. The liquid inside was smooth as glass and bright fuchsia, the beginnings of a batch of fainting fancies. The potion should have been closer to rose-colored by now, but Verity had run out of willow leaves according to her note.

Halloween morning, George had made it crystal clear to Verity that he didn't want to date her. She had been upset, and George had felt like dragon dung for a week. And for that week the nightmares had persisted. He didn't know where to find Verity. He didn't know why he sought her. George only made the connection that his nightmares visited in the nights he spent alone and were nonexistent when he someone else was with him. That someone didn't even have to be in the same room; merely knowing he or she was there was enough to get him through the night.

He had found Verity about a week later in Mr. Palentino's bagel shop down the street. She hadn't been all too pleased to see him, but the two got to talking and reminiscing; after all they had been good friends less than two years ago. They had a lot of catching up to do. In the process of telling their stories, what they had gotten around to in the past two years, George reached a point where he had to either tell her the truth or lie about the dreams he had been having. Not being a liar he chose the former option.

When it was her turn to tell her side of the story, she said not much had happened to her in the past year. Her father, who George had known had been clinging on the fraying end of his rope for close to five years, had eventually passed, and it was no surprise. The house they had lived in all her life was too big for just her, so she sold the place and found an apartment. However, the apartment was expensive, and since she didn't have her job at the joke shop to help cover the cost, once the money she received from selling her dad's house was gone, she would have to move out. From her end of things, it could happen as soon as next month.

Fred had sat in silence the whole time that she vented. Though it had been less so the past couple of years, there had been years when a jumper and a deck of cards were all his parents could afford to out under the tree on Christmas (it was actually how the notorious Weasley jumpers had come about). He expressed his empathy toward her, and perhaps she was feeling a bit better about remaining friends with him.

"Looks like we're in two different sinking boats," he'd told her. "Here I am, unable to live by myself without having childish nightmares. And there you are . . . in need of a place to sleep." He stared her down with his bright blue eyes. He and Fred had once been told if they stared long enough with their baby blue eyes, they could get anything they desired.

Verity had thought for a long time, until the steam stopped floating from her coffee and the sky took on the grey-purple mix of wintry sunset. "I suppose we could go down together," she had said, staring back at him with her light brown ones.

She had moved into the flat that night, in the room next to his that had been occupied first by Fred, then by Ron and Harry, and now by her.

George had been grateful of her presence in his flat. Verity had been the push he needed to start working toward something again. He wanted the shop open again. He wanted to be busy filling orders, brewing batches of Skiving Snackboxes, and working on a new project he had imagined when he had first moved back to the flat. George was busy now, restocking, reorganizing, and reinventing for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes's relaunch. The feeling of being busy was satisfying.

Nearly a fortnight later, they had made a significant dent in the checklist of work that needed to be done. For the first time in a long time, George was feeling optimistic about the shop.

George lingered over the potion until something brushed against his leg. It was Verity's father's elderly fox terrier, Baldwin. He was an old, blind, slightly paranoid dog who usually ignored George unless there was someone at the door. George bunched he fingers in between the dog's ears before he slid past him to see if someone was indeed at the door. Baldwin didn't fail him.

"What are you doing here, Leesh?" George asked after sprinting across the shop to open the door for a very cold looking Alisha. She shivered as she stepped inside.

"Just stopping by," Alicia said casually. Then she got straight to her point. "Have you seen Ang lately? Or have you been spending all of your time with that Verity girl because I don't—"

"Wait, hold on! What?" George asked. "Come here." He led her over to the stairs, and she sat down while George paced in circles below. "Start over, please."

"When was the last time you saw Angelina?" Alicia asked.

"It would have been the last time I saw you, before Halloween," George said.

"So what's the deal with Miss Verity?" Alicia asked, almost hostilely. "Are you two, you know . . ." When George didn't answer her question she sighed and said, "_together_?"

"No!" George said quickly. "I don't know what you're probing for, Leesh, but you aren't going to find it here! God, what has gotten into you? I'm not interested in dating Angelina. I'm _not _interested in dating Verity. And I'm not interested in dating you, so could you please keep my love life off the table!"

"I'm sorry," she said, twenty notches quieter. She rested her face in her hands and stared at the ground.

"Is something wrong, Alicia?" George asked, seeing her calamitous expression. "Are you and Ollivander having problems, because I can—"

"No!" Alicia said briskly. "It's got nothing to do with anything. I'm fine."

"What are your plans for Christmas?" George asked her later.

"Well Angelina and Katie are staying with their parents, and Ondre is spending holiday in Romania, to replete his supply of dragon heartstrings," Alicia explained with a shrug.

"I'm going to ask you once again why he's your boyfriend. If you want to date a nerd there are plenty more that are a lot nicer than ol' Ondre Ollivander. I could talk to one for you," George joked.

"Come here," she said. George stepped a step closer. She delivered a light punch that met its mark right above his elbow.

"Guess I deserved that. What about your mum? Aren't you going to spend Christmas with her?" George asked. The thought of spending Christmas alone was something that, to be perfectly honest, had never crossed his mind.

Alicia shook her head. "Of course I will, but there's only so much time I can spend in St. Mungo's." She shrugged.

It had been less than three years ago when Angelina, Alicia, Fred, and George had visited a cursed Katie Bell in the hospital. Alicia had stepped out of the room while they were visiting and George followed her. He caught up with her at the drinking fountain; she was gulping water down and splashing some of it across her face. George asked what was wrong. She said the reason St. Mungo's made her so ill was because her mum lived here. Alicia didn't live with her parents until she was seventeen. She had lived with her aunt. Her dad passed away when she was two, and the pain of losing him drove her mum to depression. Her mum had tried to commit suicide three times. For her own safety, she was admitted into St. Mungo's and had lived there ever since.

George had never known. He was certain Fred had never known. And he wasn't sure about Angelina, Katie, or Oliver Wood, but if he had to guess he'd say Alicia didn't share that story with just anyone.

"If you need a place to stay or eat dinner, one more person in the Burrow can't hurt. We've already got more people coming than the building safety codes allow."

Alicia laughed half-heartedly. "I just might take you up on that offer, Weasley. Whose dog is that?"

"Baldwin is Verity's," George said when the little terrier brushed up against his leg.

"Verity? The Verity you said you weren't dating?" Alicia asked. Her expression was unreadable. "What is this dog doing here, George?"

"Er, Verity sort of lives here now," George divulged. "But I swear we're not dating."

"Sure, George," she said distantly. "Well I've got to go. There's a very cold looking Harry outside your door with a very pretty woman next to him, and I'm sure they need your assistance more than I do. I'll see you later, Christmas maybe." She got up to leave, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck and pulling her hat down so that only her eyes and slightly pink nose were showing.

George followed her to the door. She waved goodbye to him then said hello to Harry before bracing herself from the wind and continuing down the street.

"Well come on in!" George urged, holding the door open. "It's freezing out there. Harry and the girl, George would admit was very pretty, came in, stamping their snow-covered shoes on the welcome rug. "Take those off, I'll go get some fresh robes."

The two looked absolutely frigid. They were both borderline purple and shivering dangerously. When they moved their robes crunched as if they had once been wet but had long since frozen solid.

George ran up the stairs and tore into the tiny scullery, picking up two enormous blankets and lugging them down the steps in front of him. When he got downstairs, he found Harry and the woman peeling their soaking clothes off, trembling and blue. They looked ghostly; now wasn't the time for asking questions.

"I-I'm sorry, I only have one shower," George stammered, seriously concerned that they were going to pass out if they didn't get warm soon.

Harry nodded at the girl as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself and stepped out of the puddle he was standing in with his bare feet. George led her up the stairs and to the bathroom, stopping by the scullery once more to throw three pairs of woolen socks down the steps. Then he ran back downstairs to start a fire in the store's fireplace, which had only been used once before, in the very first days of the shop.

"T-thanks," said Harry with a shiver as he edged closer to the fire. "We just have to get a few things and then we'll be out of your hair."

"You're leaving?" George asked incredulously. "You're nearly dead! I won't let you leave yet. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I've told you: we just need a few things," Harry said again.

"You _can_ trust us, Harry," George said. Harry didn't respond.

"Well at least tell me when you'll be back," George demanded. "Ginny will be really cut up if you aren't going to see her on Christmas. You've already missed all of her Quidditch matches."

"I'll see her all holiday," Harry replied. "And I had to miss those! I was working."

George shrugged.

* * *

Ginny awoke to the whispers and shrieking. It was almost like Christmas morning, except on Christmas she would be the one whispering with Bill and Charlie, trying to guess what was inside the wrapped presents under the tree.

She opened her eyes groggily and found that she was not in her four-poster upstairs but propped on four throw pillows on one of the soft couches in the common room. There was a massive fire blazing in the central hearth, and two woolen socks were stuffed on each of her naked feet. She pulled her feet closer and sat up. Hermione was sitting on the other end of the couch with her head propped against her pillow and an enormous book resting on her lap. She folded the corner of her page down and shut the book, then looked at Ginny.

"It's snowing," she remarked.

Ginny widened her eyes, and her gaze immediately flicked to the windows. "It's snowing? It's snowing!" She leaped off the bed and joined the group of students huddled hear the walls with their faces pressed taut against the icy windows. Hermione was right; from the purple winter sky, a grayish mix floated down, landing on the blindingly white ground below. It must have started snowing late last night, because the ground was already covered.

Ginny hadn't realized it, but snow was one thing she had really missed from home. In England, everyone grew tired of the constant rain and snow, but it was a piece of home that she found here in America. The thought was comforting.

It was the last day before holiday. Traditionally the students had a half-day of classes the last day, but since the Hogwarts students had to pack all of their things for home, they were given the whole day off. Everyone had been packing all week though, so this particular Friday was all fun and no work. They even had Slughorn's party to look forward to that night.

They decided to spend the morning indoors, enjoying the peacefulness of the common room while everyone else played in the still falling snow. According to Irene, about twice a year was all the snow Kansas got. Hermione barely made a dent in her large book. Mickey and Ginny creamed Irene and Tessie in three rounds of wizards' chess, then Irene and Tessie prevailed at Exploding Snap.

At Abbey Alver, lunchtime was when they had their Christmas feast. Ginny couldn't believe that Schwartz, Pfeiffer, and Sangamon had cooked up so much. There were turkeys, pies, hams, soups, breads, cheeses, and relatively untouched haggises. They ate like gluttons until they were gorged to the bursting point.

"Meet us outside in fifteen," Tessie whispered.

Ginny and Hermione ran back up to the common room and threw on their winter cloaks, hats, gloves, socks, and scarves. While everyone else was taking mid-afternoon naps and sitting out by the fire, they waddled outside like marshmallows to meet Tessie, Irene, and Mickey.

"Great you're here," Mickey said. Ginny had raced, and beaten, Hermione across the grounds to where three black blobs were standing in the middle of the snow.

The snow had kept coming over lunch, and filled in the footprints left by previous students so that it looked undisturbed again. There was hardly anyone outside now save a few diehard first years and a teacher or two.

Behind Mickey was a closed bucket.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

Mickey dragged the bucket to the middle of the group and opened it gingerly. Ginny was hit with the potent smell of sheep's pluck.

"Ugh, what are you doing with those?" Ginny cried out, covering her nose and mouth.

"Don't tell me my cousin, Lee, never told you about haggis hurling? And Hogwarts is in Scotland too," he said in disbelief, as he rubbed the bottom of his chin pensively with the tips of his fingers. "Well welcome to the first annual joint match of haggis hurling: Hogwarts versus Abbey Alver."

"I'm not doing this," Hermione said cutting him off.

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ginny pleaded. "The teams will be uneven!"

No matter how much begging they did, their combined efforts could not convince Hermione to play. She propped herself on the front steps of the school with her signature jar of blue flames and her 'light reading' that she seemingly pulled from thin air.

"Fine, Hermione," Ginny mock-sighed. "Leave me to beat these goons all by myself."

Hermione shrugged and rolled her eyes with a smile still on her face.

"Who goes first?" Ginny asked.

"You do, new girl," Mickey said. He extracted one of the brown haggises from the bucket and handed it carefully to Ginny. Before taking it she ripped off her gloves and left them in the snow.

"Throw from here," Mickey said, drawing a line with his toe across the snow.

Ginny stepped up and determinedly threw the haggis as far as her arm would reach without crossing the line. It flew threw the grey air, bounced sickeningly on the ground, and rolled to a stop about two feet shy of a large oak tree.

"Not bad for a first-timer," Mickey said condescendingly.

"Don't be an idiot!" Irene said, smacking him flirtatiously. "That's twice as far as he can throw, Ginny."

She wasn't wrong. Both Mickey's and Irene's throws landed shy of hers, and they both fell to the ground in defeat, as if haggis hurling determined their fates. Tessie was the only one left to throw, and she was apparently the best at the sport. It was probably because she was a beater.

Tessie took a running start and hurled her haggis with a loud grunt that echoed against the stone castle. It was easy to see that her haggis rolled to a stop just past Ginny's.

"And Ginny wins!" Mickey cried, clapping Ginny on the back.

"What?" both Ginny and Tessie said in unison. "Are you blind?" Tessie chimed in.

"Your foot was over the line," Mickey said. Irene nodded in agreement.

At around three, they all trooped back inside, soaking wet, freezing, smelling like haggis, and exhausted. They quickly took turns in the showers, and returned to their dormitory to get ready for the dance.

Ginny pulled her dress robes over herself and shivered slightly in the light blue material. She pulled a comb through her hair, trying to make the slightly wavy pieces either lay straight or in curls, but not half and half.

"Got a hot date, Demelza?" she asked, as Demelza pinned a flower in her hair.

"If you would call Andrew Stiles hot . . . or a date, for that matter," she said with a slight smile. Andrew Stiles was a vivacious seventh year chaser that had fostered a crush on Demelza the entire year. It seemed like Slughorn had invited every seventh year to his Christmas party, including the Abbey Alver students.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom seconds later in a floating pink gown. Her hair was tied up in a plait that swept down across her shoulder.

"You and Dean are just going as friends, right?" Demelza asked with a smile.

Hermione grinned back and stuck her pointer finger between her upper and lower teeth. "I'm wearing this Christmas Eve," she explained.

"I find it amusing that the dorkiest of us three also has the best sense of style," observed Ginny.

"That is so not true," said Hermione.

Their dates were hovering in a corner of the common room in varying states of disarray, but looking generally more put-together than they did on a normal basis. Ginny walked up to Dennis Creevey and realized that her head only reached to just below his shoulder. Not that she was tall in any sense of the word, but Dennis had definitely grown since his days of falling off of the boat on his way to Hogwarts.

"Ready?" she asked him tentatively. He nodded with equal reservation.

The walk across the school to the potions classroom was mostly quiet. The echoing of their feet in the empty corridors pounded on Ginny's ears. The music of clarinets echoed through the halls before Slughorn's office even came into view.

The room was decorated in silver and gold. There was enough sparkle to make it almost nauseating to look at. The room couldn't have been much bigger than the Gryffindor common room, but somehow there was enough space for a dance floor, a clarinet quintet, twenty tables, and around two hundred guests.

"Weasley! How wonderful to finally see you!" Slughorn called from across the room. He moved toward her with surprising speed in comparison to his size. The purple velvet robes he was wearing weren't doing him many favors.

Ginny nodded and shook Slughorn's hand as he extended it. Dennis came up beside Ginny.

"I'd love to sit and have a nice long chat with you, but most of these hooligans demand my attention," said Slughorn, speaking of his guests. "Later though, all right? Don't leave without seeing me." Ginny knew he was probably only interested in drilling her with questions about Quidditch, Harry, her career, Harry, classes, and Harry.

On cue, Slughorn gave Dennis a friendly punch on the shoulder—which in reality sent him stumbling back a few paces—and said, "What happened to Harry, eh?"

Ginny said her thanks and quickly pulled Dennis to an empty table in the corner. Dennis looked thoroughly amused, but he was still rubbing his shoulder. Hermione and Dean joined them seconds later. Hermione was sweating and looked very flustered. Ginny and Dennis both raised their eyebrows at her.

"Someone got stuck under the mistletoe," Dean said with a snicker.

"You two?" Dennis asked.

"No," Dean stifled a laugh, "Hermione and . . . _McLaggen_!"

"McLaggen! What's he doing here?" Ginny blurted.

"He's a friend of Slughorn's isn't he?" Dean pointed out. "Now that he got that stupid job at _the Daily Prophet_."

"What people fail to mention about magic mistletoe," Hermione spewed with embarrassment, "is that it doesn't let you move until you've done it!"

Everyone at the table cracked up, only making Hermione redder.

"Look!" Hermione said suddenly. Ginny's eyes flicked to where Hermione was looking.

It was Luna of course. She looked like a mermaid in a long turquoise-blue dress that seemed to move at just the slightest of proddings. Glancing closer Ginny saw that the dress _was_ moving. Though she knew Luna would never intentionally hurt as much as a fly, the dress appeared to be sewn from thousands of

"Are those . . . _butterflies_?" Dean asked. Ginny nodded.

"Never mind _that_," Dennis spoke up. "Look at her date."

Dennis was right. Luna was linked arm in arm with someone Ginny recognized. She had been in his class all year. It was Professor Scamander, Abbey Alver's transfiguration professor.

Hermione waved Luna over to the table. Luna cracked a huge grin and weaved her way over to their table.

"Hello!" Luna greeted them brightly.

They all said their hellos, and Scamander and Luna sat down. After the initial awkwardness encroached on them, the dinner plates were served. The meal was good, but Ginny wasn't very hungry after the Christmas feast they'd had for lunch.

After they'd eaten, Luna went to dance with Rolf. Ginny couldn't believe that she'd been in his class for four months and didn't even know his first name. Dennis said he needed some fresh air, so they went outside where it was much cooler than the stuffy potions office. Dean and Hermione followed.

They sat in the algid corridor with their knees pulled up to their chins and said nothing for the longest time. They were wholly exhausted from the day they had just had and the thought of travelling home tomorrow. Ginny's eyes drooped down and her head tilted lopsidedly onto her shoulder. She pulled her bun out of her hair and let the messy mane fall across her.

She was nearly asleep when Draco Malfoy came out into the corridor looking very nervous. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the four of them. Ginny wasn't on the verge of sleep anymore.

"Hi," Draco said as if it hurt. Ginny had spent many hours dodging Draco Malfoy this semester. She was sure he had done the same.

"Hello," Hermione said icily.

"Er," Draco kicked his toe with the other one and looked down, "have a happy Christmas."

"You too," Ginny said stoically.

"Stay safe," said Draco. "You never know what might happen."

"You t—wait is that a threat?" exclaimed Dean, leaping to his feet and extracting his wand.

"No," Draco said. He turned quickly on his heel and started sprinting. Dean started to run after him but thought better of it.

"It's okay," Ginny said slowly.

"He's gonna get it if he keeps this charade up, the coward," Dean fumed angrily.

* * *

Harry wrapped a fresh towel firmly around his shivering middle and dove for the fresh pair of clothes sitting on the bathroom sink. He nearsightedly scoured the ground for the pair of socks he had just been wearing. He located one and then the other and pulled them on his feet. When he eventually got around to putting his glasses back on, they clouded over in the hot, humid bathroom.

He returned to his room to find it exactly the same way he had left it, except that his things were intermingled with someone else's. It only added to his confusion. He wondered who was staying here and hoped they didn't mind his snooping; it was his and Ron's room after all.

After examining the contents of the roll top desk for close to ten minutes, he realized he needed another, quicker way to find the Marauder's map.

"_Accio_!" he called hesitantly, raising his wand aloft and concentrating on the mundane scrap of parchment he was attempting to locate.

It flew toward him from the nightstand, knocking a book off in the process. The map had been stuffed inside the pages of the book, which he had forgotten and abandoned months ago. That it was even at the flat in London and not washed up on a haphazard shore in Angola was a surprise to him.

He turned the cover of the book to find only two entries inside it.

_December 31st, 1989  
__Professor Pickens says that it would benefit me to channel some of my anger into writing instead of troublemaking. I'm not sure what she means. I'm not too angry right now. Frusturated maybe.  
__Harry_

He smiled at his nine-year-old handwriting and his stumbling over the spelling of frustrated.

_June 17th, 1998  
__Clearly I am not good at keeping journals. It's been nearly ten years. A lot has happened that I can't quite put into words right now. Speaking something and taking the time to craft a story aren't so different. However, I feel like writing my story down would make it absolute, not that it isn't already. Maybe someday, not today.  
__Harry_

Harry stared at the half-blank page that was left. He sifted through the clutter on the desk until he found a bent quill and a half-full bottle inkwell. Then he set about the cathartic task of writing.

* * *

A/N: I know it's a super long chapter, because like a little kid I just couldn't wait for Christmas. If you would like to leave a review it would be nice of you.

* * *

**Sammie**


	22. The Winter's Tale

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
****The Winter's Tale**

Hermione could faintly recall being tapped awake by someone. The sun was painted a hesitant rose on the bleak horizon. The dormitory was fairly dark, and all she could make out were the shuffles and shadows of her roommates preparing to leave. She skived off the top layer of clothes in her forcibly packed trunk—everyone assumed that because she was clever she was organized; this was not so much the case—and stumbled into something she could wear on the ride home.

They retreated to the common room where all of the Gryffindors were sitting in twos or threes, amongst stray cages, trunks, and other miscellaneous pieces of luggage. It was quiet. Everyone was eager to go home, finally.

It reminded Hermione of an overnight camp she had went to once when she was ten, with two of her school friends from Hannibal Primary School. Of course they had had loads of fun, spending time with each other all day, every day. But it may have been too much of a good thing, because by the end of the week, they were awfully sick of each other and snapped at the littlest of things.

"It's a strange feeling," Demelza said in a tired, almost-whisper. "It feels like we're leaving home, but we're actually headed there. I guess if you spend enough time in any place it'll start to feel like home."

Hermione agreed. She had started to call this place home. It wasn't as familiar as Hogwarts or even her house, but it did feel like home. The friends she made felt like family.

Professor McGonagall led them from the common room and through the halls, out onto the freshly shoveled pathway that led past the ring of trees that surrounded the school and hid it from wayfaring muggles, and to the little gravel road that they had arrived on. The same cars were parked on the side of the road, billowing exhaust out their tailpipes and rhythmically swishing their windshield wipers against the drizzle that had begun to fall from the sky, threatening to wash away the remnants of the magic yesterday's snowfall.

It seemed only seconds later that they were packed into the toasty car and whisked up into the sky. The grayness of the clouds and the air and the sky was hypnotic, and yesterday had been long. Hermione stared out the window and felt her entire body slow down. She didn't know how long it was that she slept, but she woke up still feeling exhausted and groggy. She looked briefly around the inside of the car and saw that everyone else was asleep as well. Hermione worked at a kink in her neck before pressing her cheek up against the surprisingly warm window and returning to semi-consciousness.

The ride seemed shorter on the way back. Whether it was because she was so drained or because she was so anxious to see everyone again, Hermione did not know.

She knew they were about to land when it sounded like she was trapped in a bubblehead charm, and her ears gave a series of uncomfortable pops. Hermione peered down to see London below her, blanketed in a light dusting of snow, like a picture from a postcard.

The cars descended in a single file line down to tracks of platform nine and three quarters. There were plenty of people on the platform, more than there normally would be had they been coming on the express from Hogwarts. The world moved carefully, zippering together again what had been kept apart for so long. Hermione was certain people had felt isolated in America, kept away from home, where everything important was happening. A little bit lost, confused, more likely to make rash decisions.

"S'pose we should get out," Ginny said, stifling a yawn. As eager as they were to see their families again, the students moved with surprising slowness. Hermione stepped onto the foggy platform and scanned the grey and black coats for her parents or a glimpse of red hair that would be a Weasley.

Hermione finally located her parents standing against the brick wall looking very trepidant. She froze slightly, wanting so bad so run up and hug her mum, but not knowing what to say.

"Go," Ginny whispered, nudging Hermione forward. "We'll catch up with you later."

Her mother tapped her dad on the shoulder, pointed at Hermione and their faces lit up. They waved and smiled, flashing their perfectly straight, white teeth at their daughter. Hermione smiled back shyly. She remembered how this was done. She rushed up to them, first hugging her dad and then her mum.

"We missed you so much, Lovey," her dad said, pulling her closer for another hug. "We made it onto the platform by ourselves this time."

"I'm proud of you. And I missed you too, Dad."

Hermione's parents followed her as she snaked back through the crowd to the red car, where Ginny, Demelza, and Luna were gathered, taking their luggage out of the boot. Her dad lugged out Hermione's enormous trunk and Hermione took Crookshanks's cage. The orange puffball was fortunately resting inside it.

"Want to go out for lunch?" her mum asked.

"First we have to get Ron, though," Hermione said, looking through the crowd once more.

She finally spotted them. They were monopolizing an entire corner of the platform. It seemed like every single one of the Weasleys had come to pick up Ginny. Hermione saw Ron among them. He looked up and caught her eye. Then he grinned goofily and waved.

Ginny looked up too, to see what he was waving at. Seeing that it was Hermione, she shoved her brother firmly in the stomach and leaned on her tiptoes to whisper something to him. She gave Hermione an amusing salute and turned back to Mrs. Weasley. Ron walked humbly over to them.

"So this is the Ronald Weasley we've heard so much about?" Mr. Granger said, patting Ron on the back. Hermione's dad looked almost relieved for some reason—whether that was because Ron came sans tattoos and piercings, or because they had met him once before when Hermione was thirteen, or because he his teeth were healthy looking, Hermione was unsure. "Good to finally meet you again, m'boy." He extended his hand for Ron to shake.

Mrs. Granger came up to give him a hug. They were trying extremely hard to impress him. Ron was slowly growing redder.

"Good to see you too Mr. Granger . . . That top is lovely Mrs. Granger," he complimented.

"Please, dear, we're Alan and Nancy."

"Mum?" Hermione asked. "Maybe you should say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ron and I will go wait by the car." For good measure she added a satiated yawn.

Ron and Hermione squeezed their way through the crowd, passing by the Weasleys on their way. Hermione waved and said her weary-sounding hi's and bye's to everyone before finally making it to the brick wall that led them to the muggle world.

In the fresh air outside of the train station, Hermione led Ron to her parents' car, a very beige, generic, and generally unobtrusive Ford Sierra they had purchased when Hermione was ten. Her dad promised to teach her to drive when she turned seventeen, but that year had passed, and she realized she still didn't know.

They slid down to the icy curb where the car was parked and leaned back against the side door. Hermione pulled her hat out of her cloak and jammed it on the top of her head.

"I missed you," she said softly.

"Me too," Ron told her. "Don't tell me you went off and found some fancy American bloke that you prefer over me though."

"You know I didn't!" Hermione grinned. "I wrote you every week!"

"Well maybe that's how they do it over there," Ron joked. "You tell me. You're the international one now."

In the brisk London air, Hermione was no longer feeling sluggish. Her senses were acute, particularly her nose, and even more particularly she could smell Ron. It was a familiar smell: a mixture of the wood that made up the Burrow's attic bedroom, spearmint toothpaste, and an unidentifiable sweetness that Hermione was convinced came from Molly spoiling him as a child.

Ron's head leaned closer. She could see his breath out of the corner of her eye. Sitting, he was a good three inches taller than her; standing, it was closer to a foot. He tilted his head down slightly and wrapped his left arm around her middle. His other hand rested between her neck and her shoulder. His lips initially fell warmly on her cheek, but she turned her head and leaned up so they were face-to-face.

Hermione briefly hoped she didn't smell too terrible from spending four hours trapped in a car, but her thoughts escaped her a moment after they kissed again. When she kissed Ron, she wasn't the brainy anymore. Her mind left her completely and for those few seconds she was completely happy. It astonished her that such a simple exchange could yank her completely out of the reality she was so deeply rooted in.

"I missed you," Ron said again.

"I missed you too," Hermione replied.

They didn't need to reassure each other that they were missed. For Hermione, she was simply so overwhelmed to be home again, to see Ron and her parents, that she couldn't say anything else. In America, she had done a lot of missing.

They sat against the car with their bottoms becoming increasingly wetter and number, until Hermione's parents finally appeared.

"Are we ready?" Mr. Granger asked, clapping his hands together.

* * *

"We are so not going to have jobs after this," Ellen moaned. Harry was irritated, his nose was leaking like a waterfall, and his head was pounding—most likely from being so cold and then not so cold.

"Shut up!" he snapped at her. Maybe the cold or his fear of being on his first job as an Auror had created some sort of an allusion, but he really didn't care for Ellen much at all. Yes, she had been friendly to him that first night in Hogsmeade, and yes, she kept him from flat out murdering Robards. She was also whiny, she was insensitive, and her paycheck came before the actual task at hand.

"Mischief managed," Harry breathed, as quietly as possible.

A quick scan of the Maraders' Map had told him more than wandering around in the forest for weeks on end ever had. Of three things he was certain: 1. Robards was the only Auror still left in that forest. 2. There were groups of people scattered throughout the forest, some of them were definitely from Azkaban, and some of them were assuredly supposed to be in Azkaban, as they were on a long list of Death Eaters that Harry himself had supplied. And 3. Grawp, Hagrid's energetic, giant of a younger half-brother was not there. Hagrid's dot had appeared in his hut just that morning. He wondered if Hagrid knew any more information than Harry did about Grawp. Perhaps he was unaware anything was awry at all.

"Harry!" Kingsley, standing in the doorway of his office and looking both relieved and extremely distraught, jerked Harry from his thoughts.

Harry walked forward past the minister and took up his usual seat behind the heavy wooden desk in front of the crackling fire. Ellen stayed in the hall looking perturbed.

Kingsley flicked his wand and the shades on the magically enchanted windows of his office sprang open. They were bathed in a stream of weak sunlight that was a reflection of the weather happening above ground.

"Last thing I told you before I left your birthday?" Kingsley asked, checking to see if Harry was indeed who he claimed to be. Harry wracked his brain; August had been a long time ago.

"Er . . . be careful who you do or don't choose to associate yourself with, Harry," he stammered.

"Close enough," Kingsley grunted back. "What brings you here and why aren't you in the forest still?"

"Was our being in the forest really benefiting anything but a premature death by freezing?" Harry volleyed.

"I know, I know," Kingsley said. "I've been waiting for you to realize that. I wish there was a better way to get in contact with someone when you don't know their location."

"Why is Robards still head?" Harry demanded to know. "I can't possibly do what he says to do anymore."

"I realize Robards isn't the best man for the job," Kingsley said. Harry let out a short quick breath of frustration and agreement. "But he is the only man for it. We can't just appoint a new head whenever we like. There's a process. A very long, strenuous process."

"An excuse," Harry pointed out, after a moment of perplexed thought. "If the process is what's hindering us from doing what is right, then why don't we get rid of it?"

"Because, Harry," Kingsley said tiredly, "that is a process too."

It was then that Harry chose to pull out the haggard scrap of parchment. He tapped it with his wand.

"This should tell you everything you need to know," Harry said, holding out the Marauders' map gingerly. He shook slightly when Kingsley received it, with equal care, not quite believing was he was doing. He felt like he was giving Hogwarts' secrets away. These were the secrets discovered by his family.

"Where did you find this?" Kingsley asked quietly, poring over the intricate map with his face merely inches from its surface.

"Some friends gave it to me, nicked it from Filch's office," Harry breathed.

"Wait Moony and Padfoot? That's not Remus? Sirius? So that would mean—"

"My dad and Peter Pettigrew, yeah," Harry said, feeling slightly like snatching the map back. Kingsley looked both impressed and confused. "I can't believe they never told you."

Kingsley picked out a point in the forest. "There they are, the Azkaban runaways. What are they doing there?"

Harry shrugged. "They've done a very good job of hiding from us."

"How soon can you get to the forest again? We'll need reinforcements."

"January first," Harry said immediately. "You promised me Christmases, Minister. You'll have to get the other Aurors for this one. I know for a fact that she is in no hurry to lose her job." Harry pointed toward Ellen, sitting brooding outside of the office.

Kingsley looked weary. "Of course I did. See you January first . . . may I borrow this, by the way?" He folded the map and cradled it in his hand.

Harry hesitated as he got up from his chair to leave. "Just try to keep the fact that I have a map showing all of Hogwarts on the down low. It's better if some people don't know. Mischief managed." He pointed his wand at the map one more time and the writing disappeared.

"If only I had known about this months ago," Kingsley said morosely.

"If only I had known what I would be doing months ago," Harry added. "Something has to change."

"It's a process, Harry, but things will change. I know you'll make sure of it. I'll make sure of it too."

* * *

With one hand holding the gnarled handle of her old broomstick, Ginny gave a swift salute to Hermione, who was standing with her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked downright frightened to be standing on platform 9¾.

Ginny leaned up on her tiptoes and across her trunk so her mouth was level with Ron's ear. "Tell Hermione lots of love and good luck from us. And tell Mrs. Granger her skirt is nice," she said. She pushed him in the stomach and watched as he weaved his way over to Hermione and her parents. It amused her to see Ron try to impress them.

When Ginny turned back to her own family, she saw that nearly everyone had come to the platform to greet her. Her parents, Bill and Fleur, Percy, and George, but no Harry. Charlie would be coming in town tomorrow.

Seeming to sense the panic in Ginny's expression, George tapped her on the shoulder and, so that only she could hear, whispered, "he _promised_ he'd be back for Christmas holiday. I made sure of that."

Ginny gave the slightest of nods. "So you've seen him?"

"Briefly."

Ginny was too tired to think up another excuse for Harry's absence. She dearly hoped it was for something important. It had to be. Two months was a long time to be completely out of contact if it wasn't something that mattered. Harry also wasn't the type of person who would have the patience for two months of anything if it didn't matter. She decided right then and there that whatever Harry was doing right now mattered.

They all apparated home, directly from the platform. Ginny was too tired to have the patience to sit in a car for an hour, and she was desperately hungry. Breakfast seemed like ages ago.

She landed in the Burrow's front yard and was almost surprised to find it wrapped in a thick, fluffy snow, not so perfect for packing but absolutely perfect for fireside naps.

The Burrow fit perfectly, like a glove. It meant nothing to say it felt incredible to be back home, she had missed everything about the Burrow, and she had missed her family so much, because all of those things were givens. All she knew was that places and faces and happenings all came and went, but this, this would be her home and her family for forever and always: sitting around the kitchen table, talking to the ones she loved so dearly.

It seemed only natural that she be bombarded with questions the second she sat down in the Burrow's cozy kitchen. There were six of them and one one of her, and her only contact for the last four months had been via the sporadically scattered owls. They all sat down at the dining table, something else Ginny hadn't realized she'd missed so dearly.

Before she had even had a chance to open her mouth or slip off her cloak, there was a pot on the stove and enchanting smells were emanating from it. It smelled like Molly was making soup. Her mum's cooking was another things she had missed but hadn't realized. There seemed to be a lot of these, little things, bits from home.

Ginny willfully answered as many questions as she could. She explained as much as she could remember about the school and the teachers and the abnormally large chandelier in the Great Hall. It wasn't until a steaming bowl of potato soup was whisked under her nose that she stopped talking. Though the soup was hot and burned her tongue, Ginny ate it as quickly as she could. Two bowls later she was feeling the delightful lull of sleep overwhelming her once again. Who knew sitting in a car all day was so tiring.

"So Quidditch," Bill began, "are they any good at it in America?"

Ginny was about to answer, but a yawn overtook her.

"Ginny, you can talk later," Molly said, sweeping the bowls off the table with a flick of her wand. They landed in a neat stack in the sink. "You should probably be sleeping now. You're obviously exhausted."

"But Mum!" Ginny protested. "I want to talk! I've been away for four months by myself and you're going to make me take a nap?"

"Come on, Mum," George chimed in.

Molly shook her head. "You'll be right here in an hour when she wakes up. For now, she needs the sleep."

Ginny slinked toward the living room, dropping her cloak off on the front doormat on the way. Even though she could have stayed and talked for hours, she had to admit she was tuckered out. She collapsed onto the couch next to her mother's tumultuous basket of miscellaneous knitting needles, skeins of yarn, scraps of paper and patterns, and an incomplete Weasley jumper.

"Who's this for?" Ginny asked, pointing to the handsome blue jumper with silver F knitted onto the front.

"Fleur, of course," Mrs. Weasley shot very quickly.

"Oh right, I—never mind," Ginny covered up. It seemed like she had always saved the twins' jumpers for last. Of course she was knitting a jumper for Fleur. It seemed stupid now to think that the F stood for Fred.

Molly took the knitting basket off the couch and leaned over the back of it to close the curtains. Ginny curled up onto the couch and immediately felt herself start to fall asleep. She felt someone put something on her feet and toss a blanket over her before she fell away completely.

When Ginny woke up something was tapping on the window. She felt like she had only closed her eyes for seconds, but at the same time she was so wide awake she could get up and play a Quidditch match. Ginny was covered in a Gryffindor red afghan that was just short enough so that her feet stuck out at the bottom. A different colored sock was jammed on each.

There was another hit against the window and a shatter.

"Oh damn," someone whispered loudly. "_Reparo_."

Ginny sat stunned for a second, then ripped open the curtains. She tilted her head to the side, not registering the black hair, rosy cheeks, and round glasses at first. When she did, she nearly toppled off the couch in shock. She tried to stifle the bemused smile that visited her, but her cheeks wouldn't cooperate.

Throwing the afghan in a heap on the couch, Ginny tore through the house to the front door, where she rapidly tugged on the first pair of boots and coat that she saw. The boots happened to belong to Charlie; although short and stocky, he had enormous feet that were about six sizes too big for Ginny.

Before throwing open the door and running outside, Ginny noticed a note taped above the handle.

_Gone to get a Christmas tree. I hope you aren't too mad that we picked it out without you. Mum and Dad are doing last minute Christmas shopping. Can't believe they're already sick of us. You've got the house to yourself, Gin. Love, Everyone_

Ginny crumpled the note in the mitten she had thrown over her hand seconds before, and twisted the doorknob forcefully. Like everything else in the house, it usually stuck.

She wobbled as quickly as she could across the snow in Charlie's big boots, wanting to reach Harry before he slipped away again. It had been so long since she had seen him that it was hard at first to believe that it wasn't just a dream.

As she maneuvered her way around the side of the house Harry came into view. He was standing about a broom's length away from the side of the house, and he was facing the other way. At the sound of her clomping footfalls, Harry turned. He too was wearing a matching expression on his face.

She ran as fast as she could, stumbling over the white fluff to reach him. He stretched out his arms and she leaped the last few steps into them, wrapping every part of her that she could around him, even in her overly large coat and boots. Ginny's forehead was pressed against Harry's, pushing his glasses down on his nose. She was squeezing him as tight as she could, not wanting to let go, but his grip was even tighter. Ginny closed her eyes and leaned her chin down and forward, snuggling her lips in Harry's.

They stood there for what seemed like forever, yet it wasn't long enough. Harry only stopped long enough to say, "Would it be cheesy if I twirled you?"

"Was it cheesy when you threw rocks at my window?" Ginny asked. Harry gave her a twirl. "You weren't supposed to throw them hard enough to break it."

"It's my Quidditch-toned muscles," Harry laughed. His breath smelled nice. Ginny should have at least thought of brushing her teeth before running outside. She probably smelled like potatoes and onions.

"You're a seeker. You don't have Quidditch-toned muscles."

"True. I was going for the Romeo and Juliet approach, where I whisk you away and marry you," Harry explained.

"Honestly, have you even ever read that book? He is not the rock-throwing type," Ginny laughed. "And if you were going for the Romeo angle, we'd both end up killing ourselves."

"Everything I know about reading I learned from Hermione, and you know how she feels about Shakespeare," Harry grimaced.

"Named after the queen in _The Winter's Tale_ and she doesn't even like a good Shakespeare," Ginny shook her head. Harry started to let her down but she hooked her arms around his neck tighter. "Don't let go yet."

"Heavy," he whispered.

"You calling me fat, Potter?"

"Well I apparently don't have toned muscles from Quidditch," Harry said. But he didn't let go as they sank to the ground together, in a little crevice next to the Burrow's chimney.

Harry only let go to pull his wand out of his back pocket and conjure a little blue flame that floated through the air in front of them. Ginny fingered the edges of the flame, staring into its ever-changing steadiness.

"So you're not mad?" Harry finally asked, as if it had been nagging him for quite some time.

"Mad about what?" Ginny asked, staring back up at him.

"Me missing your Quidditch matches . . . all of them," Harry said, looking down.

"Oh yeah, I'm furious," Ginny stated blandly. "Would you be mad if I missed your Quidditch matches?"

"Well no, not really," Harry began.

"I'm not upset at all, Harry. I'm not my mum or anything. Besides, you have to pick your battles. You were working; I can't blow up every time you have to go do something. I'd be a mess . . . I know you have things to do, just don't leave me out of all of your fancy plans. I was in America this time; next time we're in it together."

"I freaking love you," Harry told her, kissing her lightly on her ear. It was red from the cold.

"You say that a lot," she noted.

"Do you want me to stop?" Harry asked.

"No, it's just . . . most of the time I already know that," Ginny explained. "And for the record, I freaking love you too." She brushed her nose against his cheek. Harry yawned.

"Tired?" Ginny asked, catching his yawn and stretching her own mouth wide open. Though she had so much to think about, her mind would not cooperate, and for the third time that day, she fell asleep.

"Hey! Wake up!" Ginny heard a voice yell. The end of a wand was jabbing her left forearm.

"Ow!" a voice cried from beside her. Ginny fought to open her eyes, which were so happy to be closed.

It was then that Ginny realized she was sitting next to Harry. Though somehow in their unconscious state, their limbs had gotten dreadfully tangled. They were still sitting on a patch of dry grass under the overhang of the roof where the snow hadn't covered, but Ginny was feeling pleasantly warm. Harry's blue flame was bobbing just above their heads. The weak and waning sun was settled just above the trees.

Bill and Fleur were lingering above them, apparently in deep concentration. Their wands were not in their hands, but they were using them to jab Harry and Ginny.

"Hey! Stop it!" she cried, attempting to bat Fleur's elegant ivory wand out of the way.

"You should probably come inside," Bill said. "Mum would throw a fit if she knew you were out here."

Seeing the confused look on Ginny's face, he sighed. Clearly there was something she wasn't getting here. Fleur stuck out her hand to pull Ginny up.

"Mum's been worried sick about the Death Eaters," Bill said.

"Death Eaters?" Ginny asked, widening her eyes. "What are you talking about.

"She ran into Mrs. Malfoy in Diagon Alley the other day, and ever since then she's been scared out of her mind. There are still some Death Eaters slinking around England, and I'd bet they'd pay to get a little revenge. Just be extra careful, okay? Falling asleep outside where everyone can see you isn't safe." Bill said in concern.

"When will we ever not have to be careful?" she wondered aloud.

"Never," Harry said sadly.

* * *

A/N: Gracious, Sammie, why must you always write about such delicious foods, you make me hungry. If you feel like leaving a thought or two, I wouldn't object.

* * *

**Sammie**


	23. Eve

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
Eve**

Simply because Molly was happy that they were all back home safe and sound was not reason enough to stop her from giving them a hefty list of things that needed to be done before Christmas. After all, this might be the last year the family would all be in one place for the holiday. Ron and Hermione were missing this year; who knew what would come next.

Ginny didn't mind doing the housework. It slowed down the hours just enough so that they weren't speeding by and gave her an excuse to spend more time with Harry.

At Abbey Alver, she had been so removed from her family, home, and the things that she missed that she hadn't even realized she missed them. Now that she was back—she was home; it felt so good to say that—she wished time would pause for a few weeks, so she could stay like this forever.

And Harry. Her heart ached when she thought of how long she had been away from him—truth be told, she tried to push this from her mind. She couldn't bear to think about what might happen when they had to part again.

The first night back at home, Ginny and Harry stayed up all night. Harry was supposed to be in Ron's bedroom, but one sneaky maneuver down the steps and a good silencing charm ensured their privacy. They talked. Some of the things they said were meaningful. They caught each other up on everything. But they mostly rambled on about the exciting things, like Quidditch scores, Ron meeting the parents, and Arthur Weasley's latest muggle endeavor, the coffee pot.

Now it was nearing four in the morning, and Ginny, pleasantly past the point of tired, fancied a chat with her brother Charlie. She had missed him too. She did some quick calculations in her head; it would be almost seven in Romania.

"Come on!" Ginny giggled, pulling Harry behind her. No one except Harry and Ginny was awake yet. They stole quietly down the stairs. Ginny's years of practice ensured that she knew every squeaky spot, so she skillfully laid out the quietest path for Harry to take. It was harder, however, to stifle the giggles that seemed to be bursting from her stomach.

Like herself, Ginny was positive that Harry was tired of hurting. Now that they were back together, it seemed simple to just choose happiness.

They successfully landed at the bottom of the stairs without waking anyone in the still-sleeping house. Ginny had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

Harry leaned back on the Gryffindor afghan-covered couch. Ginny walked blindly over to the fireplace, dipped her hand in the half-full pot of pink floo powder, and threw it over the fireplace. The sound of her voice seemed to echo throughout the house when she said, "Charlie Weasley!"

The green flames burst up before her eyes and sent her spinning before her head was given a view of the inside of a bare bedroom. The bedspread was in a heap on top of the bed.

"Charlie?" Ginny called, forgetting she was supposed to be quiet.

There was a moment of muttering followed by the pounding of footsteps. A pair of legs walked around the side of the bed and bent down. Charlie came into view with a goofy smile on his face.

"What are you doing here? What time is it?" he asked with a sleepy grin.

"Saying hi," Ginny said slyly. "You are coming home today like you promised?"

"Just packing," Charlie said with a yawn. He gestured toward his bed where a suitcase was sitting open. Ginny couldn't see the bed very clearly from her position in the fireplace, but she could have sworn she saw something move. It moved again.

"Who's taken over your bed?" she asked suspiciously.

"What? No one."

"Don't lie to me, Charles," she said using his real name. It made her want to laugh, but she bit it down and attempted to look serious. "I'm serious."

"Has Mum neglected to tell you that Charlie is a nickname for Charming? My name is not Charles," Charlie said.

Ginny laughed. "Stop it! I'm serious. Who is that? _Lenka_, the mysterious?"

Charlie sighed. He looked very nervous.

"You don't have to tell us if it's going to cause your demise," Ginny said. "But everyone knows about her—him—it—whatever, so you might as well fess up."

Charlie sighed. "How does everyone know about her and what do they know?"

"So it's a girl?" Ginny asked, her face lighting up.

"Yeah," Charlie admitted. Ginny couldn't tell very well, but he looked slightly green. It may have just been tinting from the green flames that surrounded her head, though. "Lenka, will you come over here?"

The bedcovers stirred again, and Ginny watched as a pair of legs whipped down to the floor and came over to the fireplace. The woman grunted slightly and bent down to the floor. Ginny's eyes widened. She was a very pretty girl with brown hair chopped just below her ears and a tattoo of a Welsh Greenback stretching up her left arm. What surprised Ginny most of all was the sizeable bump across her stomach.

"So this is Ginny? Your sister is beautiful!" she said. Ginny had been expecting an accent but was surprised to find Lenka had none at all despite her Slavic-sounding name.

Ginny blushed at the compliment but nearly passed out when she saw that the girl was obviously very pregnant. A million things shot through Ginny's head, but words did not form in her open lips.

"I see I should be going now. Tea?" she asked. Charlie stood up and helped her get up. Once she was out of sight, and presumably earshot, Charlie bent back down toward Ginny, who was still speechless.

"I know," Charlie said. "It's not mine."

Ginny's eyes bugged out, and her eyebrows shot up. "Whose then?"

"She won't say, which leads me to believe . . . well I'm not sure," Charlie stumbled. "Let's just say there aren't very many women on the reserve, but there are plenty of men—not that I'd ever think that one of my mates would . . ."

"Are you two together?" Ginny asked, trying to piece the scraps together.

Charlie shook his head ever so slightly back and forth, no.

"But you used to be?"

A single bow of the head meant yes.

"But you aren't anymore . . . What is she doing in your bed then Charlie?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"Er, she needed a place to live."

"How long has she been here?"

"Two months."

"And you? Where have you been sleeping?"

"The couch."

"So you love her?"

"No."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"No guy would sleep on the couch for two months so that his secret ex-girlfriend, who happens to be pregnant with a child that not his, can crash on his bed—unless he's impossibly, deeply, madly, amazingly in love with her," Ginny said all in one breath.

"You're wrong. What are you even visiting me here for anyway? I'm coming home in a few hours," Charlie said.

"I missed you," Ginny replied.

"So was it Mum who spilled the beans about Lenka?" Charlie asked.

"No, I—wait Mum knows?" Ginny asked.

"It's _Mum _we're talking about. She knows _everything_."

"So true."

"So, wait, if Mum didn't tell you, how did you find out and who else knows anything?" Charlie asked skeptically.

"Well I can't really talk right now, Charming. Mum's calling, and I'm really busy. We'll talk later though, okay?" Ginny said. She heard Charlie shout something about Mum not even being awake yet, as she whipped her head back from the fire.

She turned to Harry who was sitting against the couch with his legs crossed.

"You okay?" he asked, blinking bashfully at her from under his dark eyelashes.

Ginny drew a very shaky breath. "Who would have thought?" she laughed slowly and unsteadily. "Charlie's not really the type to hide sexy pregnant tarts in his room."

"Don't call her that. I'm sure she's lovely," Harry said.

"Please, you just like her 'cause she's pretty. She got in trouble the second Charlie broke things off with her," Ginny said. "How is she not a tart? The real question is are you okay?"

Harry was surprised by the question. He thought for a moment. "Yeah," Harry sighed.

"Yeah?" Ginny asked, biting her lip.

"Well the last three Christmases I've been attacked by a giant snake, Scrimageour has come to harass us, and your dad was attacked by a giant snake," he ticked off on his fingers. "I can't help but feel like something bad is going to happen, probably involving a giant snake."

"So you think so too?" Ginny asked. "I've had this feeling, too. It scares me."

"Nothing bad is going to happen though," Harry said. Ginny didn't miss the tiny quaver in his voice. "The worst that could happen is your mum's minced pies get overcooked."

"Don't talk like that! That'd be awful!"

* * *

"Hello . . . is anybody home?"

"Who is it?" Alicia growled. The door to her bedroom rested ajar, just like the door to her flat.

George entered with his head over his shoulder, stepping carefully to avoid falling flat on his face. He had never been in Alicia's flat before.

"Oh, it's you . . . I thought—it's okay, George. I'm not naked," Alicia said. Her voice was huskier than normal. George blushed and straightened his gaze.

"I swear you're too careless. Leaving both of your doors unlocked and open?"

All he could see of Alicia was her eyes peeking out at him and following him across the room. George perched himself on the end of her bed, since she wasn't in it. Instead she was curled up with all of her blankets and pillows in an overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room by the fireplace. The hood of her jacket was up, and her staticky hair was smoothed across the blanket shell that surrounded her. Her eyes looked red, and tissues decorated the floor, seeming to fall everywhere except for the metal rubbish bin.

"Have you been crying?" George asked.

"No," Alicia faltered. "Christmas cold."

"Well it's Christmas Eve, and we've got a million things to do, and Mum expects you at dinner at four, so we've only got er . . . ten hours left. You'd better hurry!" George said. Alicia stayed put.

"Happy Christmas, George, but I'm not going anywhere today. Too sick."

"I apparated all the way out here. You're coming whether I have to forcibly drag you or not."

As if to prove her point, Alicia sniffled. "Too sick. Freezing hot."

"Excuses, excuses. But that's fine. I brought Plan B along." George extracted a tiny cellophane bag out of his pocket. It was red, wrapped with a green ribbon, and contained two large pieces of dark brown candy.

"Is that what I think it is?" Alicia asked. Her eyes sparkled a bit behind the redness.

"If your thinking it's Errol's feces then you're mistaken I'm afraid," George said, handing over the package.

Alicia untangled her arms from the blanket and took the parcel. Now that he could see her more clearly, he could tell that she had most certainly been crying, and if George had only a single guess as to why, he would absolutely guess correctly. She ripped open the package and tossed the wrapping to the ground. That was refreshing—Mum and Ginny were both dainty package openers. If George could do nothing else to soothe her soul, he could at least give her a present.

"It is!" she said, her face lighting up. She took one piece of the chocolate for herself and handed the other to George. "Cheers," she said holding it aloft. He tapped his piece against hers before taking a bite of the candy.

"I've been toying with the recipe," George said. "I know it's not perfect, but so far I like this one best."

Alicia hummed her agreement. Her eyes were closed.

"Now let's go," George said, once they had both finished their chocolate squares.

"I'm still not going," she reiterated. "I'm fine here, honestly."

"Stop it," George said. "You don't even have to get out of your pajamas. I'll wear pajamas if you want."

Alicia giggled.

"I'm serious!" George pulled out his wand and tapped his pants. They shivered and changed from a plain blue jean to a soft pattern of reindeer and Christmas lights. "Come on!"

"Where are you going to take me?" Alicia asked hesitantly.

"You'll see when we get there," George said.

"That'll be impossible seeing as I'm not going!" Alicia said.

Before she could protest any further, George lunged at the chair she was sitting in and threw her over his back like a sack of potatoes. Holding her tightly so she wouldn't escape, he disapparated from her tiny apartment.

"George, put me down!" Alicia screeched. "Where the hell are you taking me?"

"I'm not taking you anywhere, seeing as we're already here," George said, putting her back on the ground.

Alicia fluttered her eyes open and shivered slightly. They were standing in the lobby of St. Mungo's.

"You did not," she said. George couldn't read her expression.

"Erm, I—it's Christmas Eve. I think you'd regret not visiting your Mum."

She nodded, looking away from George.

"I'm very nervous," Alicia said, "for her sake, mostly."

George didn't say anything. He didn't take the first step either. He wasn't going to force anything more on Alicia. He jumped slightly when Alicia grabbed his wrist and squeezed it slightly. Her fingers were cold and trembling.

She led him to the fourth floor. George knew this was also the floor on which Neville Longbottom's parents resided. She took him down one of four main hallways to the last door on the right side. _Anya Spinnet _a plaque on the door read in neat blue handwriting. Like all the other doors in the hall, hers had been decorated for the holidays. A red wreath was attached to the middle of the door, and a magical dove nestled itself in the wreath's middle.

Alicia knocked on the door once, letting go of George's hand finally.

"I want you to come inside, but please don't freak out when you see her."

George braced himself for the worst. A young nurse answered the door. He looked stressed. Alicia looked petrified from where George was standing, but as soon as the door opened, her face snapped back to blank.

"Ms. Spinnet," the nurse said, stepping aside for her to come in. "You're due for a visit. Is your aunt here?"

Alicia shook her head. Apparently the nurse had spent time with Alicia and her mother, for he seemed to know a little about them. George followed her into her mother's room. He felt the sickening sense that he was intruding. It took him several deep breaths to reassure him that if Alicia hadn't wanted him there she wouldn't have let him in.

Alicia had warned him not to freak out when he saw Anya. Alicia was often too wise and knew George much too well. Anya was exactly like Alicia in every way from the dark curls to the bright doe-like eyes. The only differences were that Anya's eyes were shrouded in worry and layers of sullen, wizened skin and hidden behind coatings of dark makeup. Anya was much skinnier than Alicia, too, like she hadn't eaten for years. Her hair was long, oily, and straggly and ended thinly below her waist.

The most shocking thing about Anya was that she only had one arm, her left one. On the right side was a shoulder and half of a humerus and then nothing. George had seen muggles with missing extremities before, especially older ones, but he had never seen a witch or wizard without all four limbs. There was magic that could fix that. Harry had regrown an arm in a matter of hours. Whatever had gotten Anya in the hospital permanently must have been horrible.

Alicia fixed George with a glance that made him recall that her mother had attempted suicide three times.

The visit in the hospital was relatively short. Anya was only aloud so much time with visitors, because of her condition, and Alicia wasn't dying to linger. George knew Alicia hated seeing her mother in such a state even though she hardly had a memory of the woman before the hospital.

When they'd made it back to the road in downtown London, George was clouted with a lick of cold air. He inhaled deeply and let its iciness inch into his lungs. In his short visit to St. Mungo's, he had begun to hate hospitals too.

"Where to next, Captain?" Alicia asked, zipping up her coat and readjusting her scarf.

"You get to decide," George said. "It's your day. Just know that I am a starving, ravenous beast right now."

"Your redundancy leads me to believe you want food," Alicia said. "I know a little muggle place."

"We would need a little muggle money, and I've got none."

"I've got some."

The little muggle place Alicia was referring to was only a short, snowy walk from the department store, the hiding place of St. Mungo's. It was a greasy spoon sort of cafe sandwiched between two buildings that outshined it in every imaginable way.

"My aunt loves this place. I don't know if you know this, but she and my dad were born muggles. It may not look like much, but they serve the best apple crumble you've ever tasted here."

George opened the door and let Alicia through first. The restaurant was composed of a single bar and eight stools propped underneath it, a cash register, and a kitchen area that was even smaller than the Burrow's. It was dimly lit but warm inside. There was one woman working behind the counter, probably in her mid-forties.

"Dessert for lunch. I can definitely handle that."

Alicia and George took up the two seats in the far left corner. Almost immediately, the woman leaned her elbows against the counter in front of them.

"What can I get yeh?" she asked wiping down the table with a wet rag. "It's Christmas Eve and we close at one, so you'd better hurry up, too, yeah?" she added.

"Okay, I want two apple crisps and two soft drinks—but I want the drinks to have a little bit of each soft drink all mixed together, all right?"

"I can do that," the woman said begrudgingly.

"Ah the sweet finesse of mixing every sugary drink to create the ultimate diabetes-inducing beverage," George said. "I only wish Fred could—never mind . . ."

"It's not a sin to think about him," Alicia said. "It might even be nice to remember him every once in a while. Just the other day I was helping Ond—I was hanging up my Christmas tree and . . . well do you remember the time you spent all afternoon putting up the Christmas tree in the shop and when Fred got back he got so mad he didn't get to help that he rearranged the lights?"

George laughed in spite of himself. Fred had redone the lights to spell out a very nasty message to George. Then he quickly put them back in order when he caught wind that Mum was coming to the shop.

"Oh, remember when he and Ang got caught in the broom cupboard next to the Defense Classroom? He may have seemed smug, but they weren't snogging. They were actually planning an elaborate attack to de-turban Quirrel. It totally would have worked if Quirrell hadn't needed his extra garlic bundles halfway through Defense class."

They spent the rest of lunch swapping stories. A lot of them involved Fred, but there were also a bunch that centered around teachers, school, the shop, their families, their lives, and Quidditch.

While they talked, they took a walk around London in the freezing cold. The lack of heat now would only make the Burrow feel warmer and better when they got home.

"Did you know Ron got an offer from the Chudley Cannons?" George asked her.

"He _WHAT_?" Alicia screeched.

"Yeah, well, since they've been doing so poorly since the beginning of time, they don't have a lot of money. They needed a low-budget option."

"Did Ron say _yes_?" Alicia asked.

"Not yet," George said. "And he doesn't really have to say anything until spring. It's not like there're a whole bunch of people begging to play for the Cannons. I think Ron would be more of a figurehead than an actual asset to the team, just another way to profit off of Harry's fame. If _Harry_ _Potter_ attends a game they'll make a lot more money than actually paying him to play for the team. Don't tell Ron I said that though."

"Never," Alicia said. "And hey, if he knows he's good enough to play for the Cannons, he might finally get over his nervousness."

"Or it could potentially make him worse."

"Always the optimist."

They walked on together for a while longer in silence.

"Mum's probably going to want some help getting dinner together. Do you want to go to the Burrow now?" George asked.

"Yeah, I definitely think I've walked off that crisp," Alicia said.

They apparated to the gate just outside the brick path that led up to the Burrow's front door. They lingered before the gate for just a moment. George knew this moment; he'd shared it with many a girl before Alicia. This was the moment where he was supposed to sweep her off her feet and kiss her, or something to that effect.

"Thank you," Alicia said simply, with an eye-crinkling smile, the first genuine smile George had seen on her in ages.

George made an indefinite grunt. The gate creaked open and he followed her through it. He didn't even know if he wanted to kiss Alicia.

* * *

"Okay we've got the two pies, the potatoes are going to need another minute or two, there's a soup that's still vying for attention—oh hello George, Alicia dear—Bill and Fleur are bringing some _French_ gobbledygook, and we still need the bread to go in the oven, but that can wait," Molly listed without stopping. She took the time to hug Alicia and give George a kiss on the cheek before promptly returning to her usual spot near the oven.

"D'you need any help, Mum?" George asked.

"No, no, no, dear. You should show Alicia around the house," Molly said, knowing how bad of a cook George was. George secretly sneaked a sigh of relief.

Alicia had already been to the Burrow dozens of times before. "So there's the living room, and like, there's the coat rack that you've already seen. Oh, there's Mrs. Tonks and Ginny and Harry and a piano that I've never seen before. Where did that piano come from?"

"Aunt Muriel gave it to me," Ginny said with a hint of pride in her voice. She fingered the keys delicately, pressing out a few notes that had no coherent tune.

"Am I the only one that's sad she's finally in a better place?" George asked.

"You're also the only one that was written out of her will," Ginny pointed out.

"You all are honestly awful," Andromeda said.

"Show some sympathy!" Molly yelled from the kitchen.

"I _am_ sad, _really_," George said in a deeper voice, "but it's Christmas and I can't be morose on Christmas!"

"Shh, shut up!" Ginny cried. "You'll wake Teddy."

"We should probably get him up anyway," Andromeda said, pushing herself up from the couch. "If he hasn't already woken from the noise of you lot then there's something very wrong with him."

"Don't get up, Mrs. Tonks," Ginny said. "Harry and I can go get him."

Alicia went and sat down next to Andromeda on the couch and George rested on a chair by the very fat Christmas tree he went and picked out with his brothers just a week earlier.

The warm smell of Molly's cooking drifted from the kitchen, a light snow was beating down outside the window and the entire family, minus Ron and Hermione, would be together tonight. Charlie, Percy, and Arthur were currently in a nook between the kitchen and the living room and the kitchen, invested in a very intense tournament of wizards' chess. This was Christmas Eve. He couldn't wait for tomorrow when Ron and Hermione would be back for Christmas.

George suddenly jumped at the sound of an initial bang and then many consecutive bangs. He leaped up from the chair, as did everyone else in the living room. Then Harry started shouting something. His voice was drowned out only by Ginny's high-pitched wails of, "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! _WHAT'VE WE DONE_! OH MY GOD!"

Then there was a break of silence. At that point George was already halfway up the steps, right on Charlie's and Percy's tails, trampling as fast as he could toward Teddy, Ginny, and Harry.

They burst into Molly and Arthur's bedroom to find Ginny slumped against the bed in a weeping mess. Harry was panting. He looked like he could barely contain himself he was so livid. If looks could kill, they would've all been dead a week ago. The cot that was Teddy's temporary bed over holiday was smashed in, probably by Harry's foot. It was very obvious that Teddy was not in it.

Even Arthur looked ready to murder at this point.

Between sobs, Ginny relayed information. "There was—a person—standing over there—and when Har—ry and I—came in—he was hold—ding Teddy and then—he just disap—isapparat—ted!"

"If he did anything to Teddy," Harry said shaking, and struggling to keep calm, "I'll kill him! I'll kill the bastard!" He kicked the broken pieces of wood again. "I'll murder him! I don't care who it is!"

At this point, everyone was shaking with rage, violence, and shock.

"Stop it! Stop it! You can't kill anyone until we've found the mongrel that did this," Arthur shouted not even making an attempt to rule out killing.

"If they thought this was going to break us they were wrong," said Andromeda's voice from the doorway. George turned to face her. She seemed to come alive. Her hair was now a mass of tendrils that could strangle anyone that came near, her fingers were sharp claws, her eyes were alight with fire, and her voice was a bone-chilling drawl. "It'll only make us stronger, to fight for the ones we cherish."

"Where to first?" Molly whispered across the room to Andromeda. Her arms were wrapped around, and they both stood up drawing out their wands. "You're the boss."

* * *

**A/N: **You know you've lost it when you Google "muggle objects" while doing research for the chapter—not that I did that or anything.

* * *

**Sammie**


	24. The Familiar Villain

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
****The Familiar Villain**

Hermione's house was a page from one of the stories Ron had been told as a kid. It was a perfectly symmetrical, two-story brick house surrounded by a fence of well-trimmed shrubberies and two little black gates that led to the front and side doors. There were four windows on the front side of the house, each with a tall candle glowing in it, and a fat Christmas wreath hung from the door.

They were sitting in the living room next to some sort of eclectrick hearth that was just as warm as a real one. Ron was sitting on the couch across from a plastic Christmas tree he had helped Hermione and her parents assemble and decorate. Four stockings were tacked to the fireplace's mantle, and a tiny wooden nativity scene was clustered on a side table in the corner of the room.

Ron was unwillingly dressed in a dark maroon jumper with a golden _R_ knitted on the front, and Hermione in a light blue one with a red _H_. Molly Weasley, hesitant to use the muggle post after a debacle a few years ago involving Harry's uncle, sent them the normal way, by the family's ailing old owl named Errol—Pig was much too small to carry two fat sweaters by himself.

Hermione was resting the adjacent couch with a book spilled across her chest and her head askew to one side, mouth slightly open.

Her parents were currently out of the house. Every year it was tradition that Mr. Granger would put on a red suit and fake beard and go into town to ask the local children there what they wanted for Christmas. Apparently it was somewhat of a big deal, but Hermione and Ron had opted out this time.

Ron didn't want to wake Hermione, who looked so serene when she slept. He _almost_ believed nothing horrid could happen to her. Almost, because he could still see the lines of eternal worry etched into her forehead and the tiny white slits across her neck—usually cleverly hidden behind scarves, collars, or makeup—that were product of Bellatrix Lestrange's knife.

Ron heard her parents coming back from a long way off. He glanced out the window and saw that they were still out on the street. Mr. Granger pushed the driver's side door shut and said something to Mrs. Granger. Mrs. Granger threw back a retort and slammed the passenger door loudly. Ron jumped; it had been so quiet in the living room. Hermione stirred, but she didn't wake. Her head lopped over to the other side, and her hair fell across her eyes.

Mr. Granger then pulled the red suit and beard out of the backseat and shouted something to Mrs. Granger, who was rummaging in the trunk. She extracted a plastic net of ham. It was clear they were fighting, and Ron was glad he couldn't make out what they were saying. Hermione's parents fought quite a lot compare to Ron's and for what reason, he didn't know. As they came up the walk, their voices got louder. Ron was worried they would wake up Hermione.

His attention snapped away from the fighting Grangers, though, when Hermione let out a little shriek. He jerked his eyes away from the window. Hermione was standing on top of the couch with her book spread eagled on the rug below the couch. On Hermione's face was an expression of absolute terror.

"Ron we've got to leave here," she cried. She jumped off the couch and grabbed her sneakers, which were lined up next to Ron's by the door. She chucked Ron's shoes at him and began to smash her feet hastily into her own shoes.

"Wait! Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ron said. He raised his arms to block the shoes from hitting him, and leaped across the room to Hermione. He put a hand on each of her shoulders and twisted her around to face him. "What's going on? What's happening?" he screeched at her. She looked up at him with a face full of panic.

"Something's wrong!" she screamed. "Something is so so wrong and we have to go back to the Burrow before it happe—" Her voice was chopped off as she reeled over and clutched her stomach.

"What? What's going to happen? Hermione are you all right?" Ron said, now just as terrified as she was.

"Stop squeezing me," she whispered. Ron let go of her, not even realizing he had been gripping her so tightly. His hands were still scrunched together when he let go, so he grabbed for his shoes instead.

"What's happening?" he repeated over and over.

Hermione was panting. "Someone's at the Burrow. Someone awful."

"How do you know?" Ron screamed. There was a pause and the sound of the door opening. Mr. and Mrs. Granger entered the house with their heads toward each other, still bickering.

"Shh!" Hermione hissed, jumping up immediately and jerking Ron's arm with her. Fortunately Hermione's parents were too busy bickering in the doorway to notice Ron and Hermione fly through the front hall and land in the office just around the corner. Hermione dove under the desk dragging Ron with her. He bumped his head on the swivel chair on the way down.

"Yikes! Are you okay?" Hermione whisper-screamed.

Ron felt his head, but he didn't feel blood. The chair had hit him really hard. "Yeah, fine. What the hell, Hermione? Tell me what's going on!" he demanded.

"I had a dream and someone's in trouble," Hermione snapped. "We've got to go to the Burrow. Now."

"A dream like what?" Ron asked. "Like the dreams Harry has always had? The ones you always told him to ignore? Was it a false dream like the one Harry had about Sirius?" He began to raise his voice and he didn't know why. "I thought you always told Harry to try and block his dreams. Occlumency, remember!"

"Stop it, Ron! I'm serious," Hermione pleaded. "I honestly think something bad is going to happen. Don't you believe me?"

Ron paused. Hermione had never lied to him, but she had never approved of reading dreams either. That was divination. Hermione looked up at him. Her forehead was ghostly and shining with cold sweats, and she was gripping his arm so tightly that he couldn't feel his left hand. He pried her hand loose and saw the white prints of her fingertips still there. He squeezed her fist, prying her fingers loose from their clenched fist.

"Ron I've been practicing Occlumency!" Hermione whispered. "This wasn't like that! Something is really wrong and we've got to leave now. Do you remember third year when Professor Trelawney gave that prophecy in front of Harry? It was kind of like _that._"

Ron believed her. "So now what? Are we going to just leave your parents on Christmas Eve?"

Hermione fumbled her way up to the chair and threw some things around on the desk. Ron crawled out from underneath and waited in the doorway.

"I thought you didn't believe in divination," Ron said worriedly.

"I have no faith in the horrid future Trelawney will invent based on my hair length and what a ate for breakfast during the full moon last week, but some things are real. _Let's go._" Hermione folded in half a note, written in green ink, and placed it in the center of her father's desk.

She lunged toward Ron and the last thing he felt was a sickening crunch and familiar suction of apparation take over him before he heard a scream confirming Hermione's usual rightness and instilling him with a surge of slippery fear.

They landed in the middle of the Burrow's front yard. Ron lost his footing and accidentally pulled Hermione down with him into the cold, sticky snow.

"Ron!" she cried as they fell. She landed on top of him. "Who was that?"

Still holding her hand—though his arm was very twisted because of their position—Ron could feel Hermione's heart pounding like a hammer against his own. He shoved her to her feet and propelled himself upward.

"Ginny!" he screamed as he skidded toward the house with feet numbed by the snow. Hermione was so close behind him that he could see her breath out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

Harry jumped about a mile in the air when the door to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom slapped open. Andromeda instinctively sidestepped and narrowly avoided being bashed in the head.

He felt a smattering of relief at the sight of Ron and Hermione standing with their wands aloft above their heads, looking both very hard-core and extremely frightened. He briefly wondered what they were doing at the Burrow so early, but moved on to the next thing just as quickly.

"I think we should meet in that cluster of silver trees just outside their house. Do you know the one?" Andromeda asked. She was trembling.

Harry nodded and so did everyone else. It had been less than one year ago that Harry had been there before.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ron and Hermione's eyes spill across the room. The broken cradle. Mrs. Weasley holding Ginny. Everyone staring at Andromeda. He watched as Ron gave a start of realization and Hermione let out a little cry. Ginny finally opened her eyes and stared at them in confusion.

"Let's go," Molly said, standing up and pulling Ginny up with her.

"Whe—where are we going?" Ron asked hoarsely.

"My sister's," Andromeda whispered with her hand pointed at the window and her eyes closed. Deep caverns formed between her eyebrows. She flicked her heel outward and was gone. Harry followed suit.

There was a series of popping, almost like fireworks, and Harry opened his eyes to find himself on a cobblestone street fenced in silvery trees. At the end of the block he could just see the wrought iron fence and the gloomy grey house lurking just beyond it. Before he was even fully on his feet, he started running.

"Harry, stop!" Fleur's bark cut harshly through the cold air causing him to slip on the ice below his feet.

"We're going in together," Bill yelled. In several long strides he and Fleur had already passed Harry, leading the group down the lane. Harry stayed within a stride of them for a good distance. The gate at the end did not seem to be getting any closer. If anything, it looked farther away.

"What the hell?" Harry shouted, his feet pounding harder against the grey stones beneath him. He kept running.

Bill scrunched up his face. "Ungh, it's a protective enchantment." He continued running but stopped talking to catch his breath. "There are a couple of these at Gringott's. Somewhat of an illusion but usually there's some way to get through."

"So what? We run forever?" Fleur shouted at Bill, slowing her pace a little.

"No stop!" Bill cried and Harry nearly toppled over trying to stop quickly on the icy ground. He did fall when Ginny slid and crashed into him.

She let out a grunt, breathing heavily from the run. "Sorry," she whispered.

"How did you know when we needed to stop?" George said from the back of the group.

"Ex-professional curse breaker at your service," Bill said with a nod of the head, "and there's this." He slid his foot across a stone that was adorned with an intricate carving of the Malfoy Family Crest. When his foot touched the stone the gate seemed to zoom forward toward them, stopping just before it hit Fleur.

"Well spotted, Bill. That's it?" Ron asked, walking forward.

"No, then any dunderhead like yourself could get into this house. I think the gate wants something from us."

Harry remembered a night two years ago when he had visited a cave with Professor Dumbledore. That night the cave had wanted a sacrifice too. Blood.

"I'll do it," he said pulling out his wand and stepping toward the gate.

"Stop! That gate won't accept your blood," Andromeda warned. "You're not a _pureblood _and furthermore you're not a Black or a Malfoy."

"And I don't think Narcissa would approve of having to cut herself open each time she came home. Might _ruin_ her pearly white skin," Molly said scornfully.

"You're right. There'll be another way," Andromeda said. She reached behind her ear and plucked a silvery hair out. She stepped forward and wrapped the strand around the lock of the door, which fizzled and disintegrated.

"I say that's too freaking easy," Percy said from somewhere in back.

"But with the Ministry keeping them under the microscope and with Lucius in Azkaban, they can't rightly ask for a human sacrifice every time they need to go home," Arthur explained.

"Can we go?" Harry asked impatiently. "I can't even—"

He shook his head as Bill and Charlie stepped forward to shove the gate noisily through the dirt.

"Shhh," Ginny shushed as they all crowded through it and into the Manor's front yard.

"I think . . . just Harry and Fleur and I should go," Andromeda sighed. "The rest of you should follow and keep look out. Narcissa will probably be angry as it is, and if it turns out I was wrong, and she doesn't even have him . . . well, just be ready to hightail it out of here."

"Me?" Fleur breathed in astonishment. "A-are you certain?"

Andromeda nodded curtly, knowing full well Fleur was looking for an explanation she didn't have time to offer.

"Er . . . we may want to use this," Harry said, taking out his silvery invisibility cloak. He held it out for Fleur and Andromeda and wrapped the rest of it over his own head. Their feet stuck out at the bottom, but the manor was so dim and dank at night Harry doubted it mattered.

"We'll keep a lookout. We're following you all," Molly relayed.

Harry started to nod and realized Mrs. Weasley couldn't see him. Antsy to find Teddy, he started running, feeling Fleur's arm bump his recurrently as she jogged beside him. He was tired of running, and maneuvering underneath the cloak wasn't a simple thing, so it took longer than he expected to make it to the window Andromeda said they should enter.

She sighed heavily. "If I remember correctly . . ." she said and she raised her hand up and punched the glass with the base of her wrist. "Yes, yes." Fleur tensed up and grabbed Harry's arm. Her fingers were bony and sharp. "A leg up will you Harry?" Andromeda said, quietly and sternly.

She was almost too light, as Harry grabbed her middle and tried to lift her as high as he could through the pentagonal window. Harry then lifted Fleur through the window; albeit very limber, she was at least ten kilos heavier than Andromeda. Harry took a running leap, using his arms and hips to propel him through the window. He shimmied his legs through last.

Andromeda was already halfway down the hall when Harry stood up. All he could do was thrust the cloak over himself and Fleur and try their best to catch up to her.

Andromeda was quick though. In the combined clumsiness of trying to each keep under the cloak and catch up to the older woman, Fleur and Harry lagged far behind Andromeda. They kept as close as they could to Mrs. Tonks, though, as she hastened throughout the manor, in a brokenhearted attempt to find her grandson.

She led them through the maze of doors, knights, closets, corridors, staircases, and tapestries, leaving nothing unchecked and not lingering for too long in one spot. Harry was desperate to find Teddy, desperate to take vengeance.

All the while, Harry was surprised that there was no security around. They hadn't run into any trolls, dragons, or masked men. No Death Eaters. He began to wonder if Narcissa would even come back here, if it were even she that had taken Teddy. Why would she? he thought. Narcissa wouldn't want a baby. The only reason Harry could possibly think of was—

"I think it's a trap!" he hissed suddenly. "I think a few of Voldemort's old followers are trying to lure us here for some reason—probably pissed off of their Christmas lager and raring to make trouble."

They kept following Andromeda, though, for a trick it may have been, but it was a trap they were willing to jump into to get Teddy back safely.

Andromeda led them up another flight of stairs. Stately from the outside, the manor was even larger and more confusing from the inside. And Harry's brain was clogged with thoughts of Teddy. Andromeda ducked into a room. Almost caught up, Harry and Fleur followed her without hesitation. In that room they found Narcissa.

Harry hadn't known Narcissa save a few chance encounters, but one thing he could attach to all three Black sisters were that they had the ability to be downright terrifying if they needed to be. The previous times Harry had seen her, Narcissa had always looked stony, grey, lofty, and sharp. As Harry studied her now, she looked stricken and uneasy. Though she was a familiar villain, he didn't recognize her like this.

A sharp cry cut through the air. Whatever demon was squeezing Harry's heart was slowly loosening its grip when he heard Teddy crying. Narcissa reached behind her and pulled Teddy off of the enormous bed she was looming over.

"What did you do!" demanded Andromeda, pulling out her wand. Her voice was pinched. She looked insulted on a highly personal level.

Narcissa looked nervous. Not so brave without her husband by her side. Harry wondered. That Narcissa would want anything to do with Teddy made no sense.

"Give him back!" Harry shouted involuntarily. He started to step forward but Fleur stopped him with her hand, which was burning hot and stronger than he had expected.

"What are you playing at?" hissed Andromeda. "What do you want? Anything."

Narcissa still looked crazed and worried, but she pulled Teddy closer, a motherly gesture. She jostled him up and down in attempt to quell his screams.

"Teddy knows who his mother is, and it's not you," said Andromeda without lowering her wand.

"You're not his mother either," Narcissa said, sticking a knife in the wound. "He'll never know _her_."

"I just want Teddy to be safe," Andromeda said mechanically, her eyes glossy and pleading. "I want him to have the life that Dora had. A better life then we had, Narcissa."

"What are you talking about, Andy?" Narcissa used her sister's old nickname. "We grew up well. Look at me now. Look at where I live in this great big house with all these wonderful things. Just because you went off and married that poor mudblood—"

"Look at you!" Andromeda screamed, her eyes were streaming with tears now. She wiped her face with the backs of her wrists, but it did little. "Look at you! You've been brainwashed into thinking you've got it good. Our parents were bad people, Narcissa. Your husband is in jail. Your marriage has fallen apart. I know you never wanted to marry Lucius in the first place, and now your son has turned out to be just like him. _We _haven't talked for years, Narcissa. You've given up on me. You've given up on your marriage. You've given up on your son. And you think that money or Teddy will change that but—"

"Stop! I have not given up!"

"Cissy, you've given up."

"Leave now. Dolohov is here and he'll kill you—all of you."

"Save the histrionics, Narcissa. Your life is muddled and you know it. You've lost everything. But you haven't lost hope, no. Otherwise you wouldn't bother with the affair or the child or avoiding me. And if you haven't lost hope, then there must be something good inside of you—if only a little something. Don't drag anyone else down with you, Narcissa. I may not have the house or the things or the money that you have, but at the price you had to pay, I wouldn't want them. All I want these days is for Teddy and my family to be safe. Sometimes even that is too much to ask."

"I can't," Narcissa said bluntly.

"Then I've got no choice. I don't know how you got Teddy in the first place, how you got through the enchantments around the Burrow, but you sure as hell aren't going to get him again."

The struggle was a short and awkward one. Narcissa hadn't stood a chance against the twelve of them, really. What Harry didn't understand was the lack of preparation of Narcissa's part. If her intention were to take Teddy, why would she return to her relatively unprotected house, without any backup for when Andromeda and all of the Weasleys would surely come after her? Harry was uncertain, but he had run out of second and third chances for Narcissa. This was unforgivable.

Within minutes, Teddy was in Andromeda's arms. She was crying. Teddy was crying. Narcissa knew she had lost. As soon as Teddy was out of grasp, she disapparated. Bill's hands smacked together in the empty space where she had just been, and an aimed stream of yellow sparks shot past. All was quiet save Teddy's wails.

"Shhshhshh," Andromeda cooed, pulling Teddy close.

"If nothing else about this makes any sense _at all_," Ron said eyeing everyone, particularly Hermione, because what had happened at her parents house was still perplexing, "we know that this is not over."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," Andromeda wept softly to Teddy.

Looking once around the bedroom, Harry saw that it was a mess—but not due to the tiny fight for Teddy. A trunk had been pulled from under the bed and opened, half filled like Narcissa had been packing. "I'm not sure it was Narcissa who took Teddy," Harry thought aloud, "just she who received him. Let's get out of here; this place is horrible."

There were so many gaps and inconsistencies that Harry knew not what to make of them. He just wanted things to finally be over. Sick of the constant heartache on both ends of the spectrum.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading and be sure to drink your ovaltine.

* * *

**Sammie**


	25. Back to Normality

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
****Back to Normality**

The sleeping schedule of Ginny Weasley slowly inched later and later until later became early, and she found herself still conscious as the sky lightened and the sun rose dimly through the heavy grey clouds.

Sometimes her heart would suddenly skip a beat, and she had to know exactly where Teddy was, that he was safe—not that there was any way he would be in danger, for no one dared leave Teddy more than an arm's length away anymore. She would search the entire house until she found him, and only then would Ginny allow herself to loosen her fingers from their iron clench, rubbing the crescent moon indents with her thumbs. It wasn't just Teddy she would find herself searching for either.

Ron was actually the one who finally insisted Andromeda get some sleep at midnight on the last day of winter holiday.

It seemed everyone was snuggled in his or her bed except for Ron and Ginny—and probably Harry. Ginny's trunk was sprung open on her own bed, cleared of all the broken quills, parchment scraps, and lone socks. In it were a couple sets of robes and a few shirts thanks to her mother. Molly had stalked out in frustration after Ginny proved to be no help at all packing up her things for the second half of the school year. "Fine then, you can beg the Slytherins for toothbrushes and undergarments for all I care," she cried in exasperation, slinging a pair of trainers into the back of the trunk before she left.

Ginny fingered the edge of her comforter now. The nighttime was far too dark and far too quiet for her liking. From across the hall, she heard a small wail. Teddy cried a lot nowadays. Molly promised it was just a phase, seperation anxiety or something. Ginny thought Teddy could sense everything was awry. He was an intuitive baby.

She tread silently across her room and across the hall to Bill's room, where Teddy's crib was. After the incident, Andromeda had decided—everyone had _insisted_,actually—that she should stay at the Burrow for a while. With Teddy in Bill's room and Ron keeping an eye on him, Andromeda was sleeping in the attic tonight.

Pushing the door open as quietly as she could, Ginny was surprised to find both Ron and Hermione in Bill's room. She hadn't even been aware that Hermione had left their room, only that Hermione's things were all packed and ready. Ron was holding the seven-month-old hesitantly, like it would break, and Hermione was peering over Ron's shoulder, cooing nonsensical nothings.

"Shh-shh-shh, everything will be all right . . ." she whispered.

When Ron looked up and noticed Ginny, he blushed and grinned crookedly. Ginny returned the smile.

"What's up?" he asked. "All packed for school and stuff? Need help?"

"Nah," Ginny sighed. "I'm not even sure I'm going back."

Ron's smile faded just as quickly as it came. "What do you mean, Ginny? Sit down."

Following Ron's direction Ginny propped herself on the edge of Bill's bed. Hermione took Teddy, and Ron sat down next to Ginny.

"What do you mean?" he repeated blandly.

"I mean I'm going crazy," Ginny said. "Every time Teddy is out of my sight, every time any of you are out of reach I can't stop thinking about you. Are you safe? Have you been taken? I can hardly stand it when you leave to go to the bathroom; how am I supposed go live by myself at school, Ron?"

"You're mental, Gin, just saying. And you're kind of dumb too; you should probably finish school," Ron said, nudging her with his shoulder. Ginny pushed back with a small "hey!"

"We've all been on edge though," he decided.

"Have you noticed that Harry's been getting prematurely grey?" Hermione asked, seemingly out of the blue. Ginny hadn't. Apparently she'd been really unobservant as of late. "He takes things harder than the rest of us, Ginny. If you stay here it'll freak him out—a lot." She bounced Teddy again on her lap. He fussed but didn't cry.

Ron hugged Ginny tightly. "You won't be alone this time. Hermione and Luna and everyone will all be at school with you. And Hogwarts is a lot closer to home than America. There's nothing here for you, Gin. Nothing but Mum and Dad and this mangy old house. And if you stay it's not like you'll get to spend every day with us. Harry, Percy, Dad, and I work for the ministry now. Charlie'll be back in Romania. Remember the year I went to Hogwarts, Gin?"

That, Ginny did remember. As a ten-year-old girl who was used to living with six older brothers, the absence of all of them for an entire year seemed unfathomable. Though they were annoying as hell in the way that older brothers can only be, after about a week of solitude Ginny found herself in a hole of irrepressible boredom.

Though it was beside the point, that was also the year she met Luna Lovegood, the bright-eyed witch that lived in the only house for miles that resembled Ginny's in the fact that it didn't look like any of the other houses in the village. And that the children who played in the village couldn't seem to see it. It was how Ginny knew Luna was a friend.

"Please, go back?" Ron asked pleadingly.

"My trunk's not packed."

"I'll help you."

"You will? This is surprising."

"Shove off."

"When did you get smart by the way?" Ginny asked, finally shifting to stand up.

Ron shrugged. "Had to happen at some point."

On her way out of Teddy's room, the door banged against something. Assuming it was stuck, like doors in the Burrow were prone to be, Ginny pushed harder. This was met with an "ow!" and Ginny leapt back, landing on Ron's foot as well. In the shadowy hallway there was a person. Ginny's eyes met Harry's briefly, but Ron was on the floor, too preoccupied nursing his smashed foot to notice anything. Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Harry suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Don't leave." Ginny wasn't sure whether he meant not let go of her hand or don't leave and go to school, but she assumed he had heard more than just the last sentences of her and Ron's conversation. And she would have stayed in a heartbeat if she hadn't already made up her mind five seconds earlier.

* * *

The ride to Hogwarts was dead silent, not that Hermione minded much. She'd packed well for the occasion. Rain slashed violently against the train's windows as the wind rocked their car just a little too much. Though she knew the Hogwarts Express wasn't going to derail, it only put her further on edge.

The morning had been uneventful to the point where they had even made the train on time.

Any attempts Hermione made to make progress on her book were obliterated quickly, because her mind simply refused to stay in one place. Her thoughts flitted from one unconnected thing to another, much like the past school year had been. A series of unconnected events followed by brief periods of almost-calmness that were diluted with bits of fear and doubt about what, if anything, was coming next.

Hermione determined that her problems had all started with that Auror that had accompanied her and Ron to Australia last summer. What was his name again? Oh yeah, Turpin. Michael Turpin. He'd turned out to be a nutter, and Hermione was fairly certain there were still Aurors out there searching for him. Ron had been, but news on the topic had either been avoided or nonexistent.

* * *

Ron walked in to work that morning to see everyone gathered around the breakfast cart, munching happily on pastries instead of at their desks, poring over any new information, like they had been doing for the past months. Ron was about to ask what was up when his advisor—boss—Jerry Green, came up, clapped him on the back boyishly, and shoved a pastry and a goblet of pumpkin juice in his hands.

"Loosen your tie, Weasley. Good work! Great Scott, we've finally done it! Found Turpin!" he said ecstatically.

"You what? Where?" Ron felt some stress melt off of his body. They had been trying to locate the rogue Auror for so many arduous months.

Green's tone hardened and he put his arm curtly back to his side, lips pressed tightly together. He said, "about midnight last night in the middle of nowhere. It was the police who found him; we just . . . identified him. Turpin was dead, Ron. Had been for several months by the looks of it."

Ron sighed, loosened his tie, and scratched at the messy stubble that had sprouted on his chin. It seemed that solving one mystery would always be met with a more immediate, more complicated one.

* * *

_After Australia there had been America_, Hermione thought. Perhaps one of the only decisions of McGonagall's she didn't back. It seemed almost stupid, now, to send a bunch of kids away to a far-off foreign country right after a war. McGonagall had gone a bit funky toward the end of the summer. There was something odd about that that Hermione couldn't quite place her finger on. What had Ginny said again? Something about Mrs. Thomas, Dean's mother, threatening her? Even if that was the case, Hermione doubted it would have much effect on strong, even stoic Minerva McGonagall.

And while they were in America there was that weird Muggle convention with the cars. Hermione didn't dwell on this. It was probably mere coincidence that something else strange happened in the midst of all this uncertainty.

After the car convention—or right before, Hermione was a little fuzzy on the times—there had been both the strange and probably private conversation she had overheard between Draco Malfoy and Narcissa. And then there was the oddness with Draco at Slughorn's impromptu Christmas party.

Harry had spent a month in the Forbidden Forest chasing after about a hundred muggle-borns that had been previously trapped in Azkaban for "stealing magic." They still didn't know where those people were, did they?

After that, of course, was Teddy's kidnapping. Where was Draco during that? And how had anyone slipped through the protective enchantments around the Burrow? The day they got Teddy back, Hermione, Mr. Weasley, and Charlie had personally checked the enchantments, which were still perfectly in tact.

A series of strange and mostly unlinked pieces. It was like she was trying to put together a puzzle in which each piece belonged to some other mystery. Hermione wracked her brains for a missing link or chain or something that had been overlooked, but none of it made any sense at all, and she couldn't concentrate.

Suddenly she let out a little "eep!" of realization, but no one heard it. Luna, Ginny, Demelza, and Dean were all asleep. As if it were a chain reaction, nudging her own weary soul, Hermione felt the heavy tiredness nudge her. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, but at that moment it was all she could do. So she succumbed.

* * *

Ginny woke up with a mossy mouth, realizing that for the first time in a week she had let herself fall willingly to sleep. The usual stirrings erupted inside of her, the pulls that made her instantly want to find each person she knew and loved and make sure they were safe. She knew that would be impossible right now, and was minutely calmed when she saw that everyone in the compartment was safe. It was enough. For now. Besides they looked so innocent when they slept. Not so constantly vigilant.

Luna stirred and her eyes flicked out the window across countryside, following the wet, grey haze.

"Did you hear something?" Ginny asked Luna.

Luna hummed out a yes then nodded toward Hermione. "Hermione just figured something out."

"What?" Ginny asked. Luna shrugged. Hermione's eureka seemed to have tuckered her out. "Well I won't wake her. God knows we need more sleep." Ginny, too, stared across the bland green, rain-soaked land that flew past as they ventured farther north. It was hypnotizing. Calming.

"I think we're meant to be arriving soon," said Luna. The sky was the same rainy grey it had been all day, and Ginny lost track of the time when she fell asleep, so she had no way of knowing if Luna was right.

It was when she had already woken Demelza, Hermione, and Dean and was pulling her bulky black Hogwarts robes over her clothes that Ginny saw it. At first just a shadow outlined in the rain, but as they got closer the silhouette turned into the form of a castle. While she was excited to see it again, the castle sent a heavy shock straight to her heart—she jumped a little. After the initial jolt wore off, Ginny peeked at the castle again, more curiously. Memories sprung to the forefront of her brain, both good and terrible, and Ginny tried her best to only focus on the good as the castle inched closer and closer.

When the train stopped there was the usual mass exiting of students. Ginny and the rest of her compartment took their time. Hermione kept touching her fingers to her lips like she was restraining herself from biting her nails to stubs. Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand and offered a comforting glance, even though she wasn't feeling too steady herself. Hermione squeezed back.

"Firs' years! Firs' years o'er here! Firs' years o'er here, ye! Firs' years!" Ginny was filled with warmth when she exited the train to hear Hagrid corralling the first years for the boat ride across the lake to Hogwarts. The weather was unfortunate. Ginny laughed when she saw most of the first years looking as nervous and shaky as they did on the first day of school. Though most of the incoming students had seen Hagrid the eight-and-a-half-foot-tall half-giant before, they always scurried past him, probably hoping he wouldn't suddenly get hungry and eat them.

Hagrid saw Ginny, Hermione, and Luna and flapped his hand ebulliently. A couple of first years leaped away to avoid Hagrid's larger than life extremities.

When the carriages pulled up to the platform, Ginny realized with a jolt that she could see the threstrals, giant emaciated winged horses that were masses of wiry muscle and jagged bones. She imagined most of the older students could see them now. Each consumed in their own thoughts, Ginny found a common uniter among all of them. That they had all witnessed death. It was kind of morbid, but it made her feel the slightest bit closer to the crowd that pressed on every side of her. Like they were all facing the unknown of the castle together.

During the carriage ride to Hogwarts, Ginny kept her face pressed sharply against the window. Her breath fogged up the freezing glass and chilled her cheeks, and the castle slipped closer and closer. Ginny saw that whoever had helped heal the castle did an amazing job, really. She was surprised that there was hardly a difference between the new and old. But she could tell. And with telling a whole new set of memories surfaced, this time bad. All bad. Then there was the sinking realization that as long as her heart was filled with such aching memories, Hogwarts couldn't be called home. If it wasn't home, this place was just a cold stone castle.

If there was one thing that could take her mind off of the terrible memories of last year that kept sprouting up, it was the expressions on the first years' faces when they saw the Great Hall for the first time. Though the ceiling was dyed an inky grey, illuminated only by the occasional pulses of electricity, it was a wonderful sight to behold for the first time. The first years had no memories of this place. They had yet to make them, the good and the bad. Ginny hoped mainly good.

And, okay, the food couldn't be spoiled by any awful memories either.

"Nick! How have you been, Nick!" Dean called. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, popped his head back on—he was sitting in front of a few first years who seemed on the verge of being sick—and floated through the mashed potatoes before stopping near Hermione, Ginny, Dean, and Demelza. A second or third year walked up and nervously gestured for the gravy boat, which was currently situated inside of Nick's chest.

"Oh, go ahead. Take it. It's not like I'll be able to taste it," Nick said somberly. The ghost drifted aside and the boy picked up the gravy boat very gingerly. "Hello, Dean. Ginny. Demelza. Hermione."

"How have you been, Sir Nicholas?" Hermione repeated.

Nearly Headless Nick sighed. "Same old, same old. My request to join the Headless Hunt has been denied for the three hundred and twenty second time in a row, but I'm just peachy."

"I'm sorry, Nick," Demelza apologized sympathetically.

"Thank you, Demelza. I should go though: first years to amuse . . . terrify." Nick winked.

"See you later, Nick," said Ginny with a slight wave before turning back to her own plate of green beans and ham.

The four-poster felt so good, but Ginny wasn't tired. She spent a good portion of the night tossing and turning and wrenching the hot covers off of her sweaty body. Gryffindor tower was the only thing that hadn't been touched by the war. She wasn't about to let any bad memories of the place ruin it for her too.

The next morning Ginny mulled over her schedule with Hermione. They were nearly identical, save an Arithmancy or two. First up at nine o'clock was double Defense Against the Darks Arts with the new professor McGonagall had found. Ginny wondered who, if anyone, would take the job after the previous seven professors lasted only a year apiece.

"Any ideas on who the new Defense professor is going to be?" Ginny asked Demelza while Hermione fumbled with the post owl delivering her _Daily Prophet_. It was unsurprising to see the snippet at the bottom of the front page about Harry and Teddy. Once news of Teddy's kidnapping had been spread about, as only information that is supposed to be kept private can, the reporters were back with their cameras at the invisible barrier that divided the Burrow from the rest of the world. The only redeemable thing about them being there was the daily reassurance that the protective enchantments that surrounded the lot were still in tact.

"New Defense professor? No idea. Hermione?" Demelza said.

"One," Hermione said, but she was busy with the news and offered no further input.

It was Bill, the new professor. Upon walking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with Demelza and Hermione, Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin. Then she kicked herself and spent the first half of the class wondering how the lot of them had kept it a secret from her all through holiday. And why. She spent the second half of class in complete shock of the fact that her oldest brother, who was only eleven years older than she, was teaching her Defense Against the Dark Arts class. At Hogwarts.

Before Ginny knew it, the class broke up into groups to work on nonverbal jinxes: somewhat of a review, but entirely necessary. Once everyone was situated, Bill moseyed immediately over to Ginny, Demelza, and Hermione's group.

"Bill, er, _Professor Weasley_," Ginny said with a smile, then got serious. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

"Er, I wanted it to be a surprise," he said limply. "I see everyone kept my secret then. Thanks Hermione . . . and I knew you were pretty hesitant to come back here, Gin, but I thought having me here would cheer you up a bit."

"You are the sunshine of my life," Ginny said giving him a shove.

"How'd I do my first class?"

"Pretty good. You should watch your 'erm's' though, and your handwriting is like a six-year-old's, I swear," Ginny told Bill. "Oh and do another button, tie the tie, and iron the shirt next time. Comb your hair maybe. We're going for teacher. The earring and hair already make that difficult enough." Ginny did him the justice of tying his tie.

"Harsh," Bill said yanking his tie looser again. "I was aiming for the cool 'carpe diem' type teacher. Do you think anyone noticed I'm your brother?"

"Red hair and a wrinkly shirt? You must be. And if they didn't then it'd be awfully weird for me to be tying your tie."

* * *

Harry walked in to the office that morning. It was a strange sensation to be wearing a tie and button up shirt and holding a bag of parchment and quills at his side, because all of his previous work had been done outside the office. All of his previous work hadn't really been work at all. The thought still burnt him.

Kingsley and a few of the Aurors that he recognized were all turned away from him when he entered. They were gathered around a simple wooden table staring at something. From his scanty vantage point he only caught a glimpse, but Harry saw enough to know that they were looking at the same piece of paper that had gotten him through some very sticky situations in years past. The map.

"Come here, Harry," said Kingsley. His voice didn't sound happy or glad or any of the good things it should have sounded with the recent addition of the map. It sounded frustrated and tired and none of the things an Auror should ever feel. As Harry had learned in his brief time training to become part of the Ministry's crew, it was unacceptable to feel frustration, anger, weariness, or any other human reaction to being faced with a winding, endless mystery.

Harry walked to the map and saw that something was terribly wrong. No one was in the castle yet, save a few teachers, Filch, and Mrs. Norris. The students would arrive later tonight, though. Professor McGonagall was in Dumbledore's—her office. Fang was nestled safely inside of Hagrid's hut, and Hagrid was in the garden, probably tending to a new crop of Blast-Ended Skrewt larvae. But the forest—Harry's eyes searched the forest over and over again. Trees. Rocks. Leaves. To the edges of the forest where the map was cut short by the ending of the parchment, the forest was nearly empty. Except for one pair of walking footsteps twice the size of any others on the map. Grawp's.

"What? Where . . ."

Kingsley refused to look anywhere but the map as he said, "I guess they found what they were looking for."

"Which was?"

Kingsley suddenly jerked his head up and held Harry by the shoulder. His grip was tight with unrestrained frustration. "Harry I know you're not going to like this, but you need to think back to the night you were murdered. Voldemort was in the forest that night. So were you. Is there anything—a wand, an object, an article of clothing—anything that would be of use to any of the Death Eaters.

His immediate reaction was to say the cloak, but it was in his bag this very instant, and none of the Death Eaters would be looking for it.

Harry couldn't breathe as he pressed his temples and screwed his eyes up. He'd been blocking the memories deep down for so long, and Kingsley had just opened the floodgates and sent a series of unwanted memories pouring back into him. He sloshed through everything about the forest that night.

"Harry. Anything?"

Harry had no idea how long he had been standing there, leaning over like he was about to be sick. A memory came to him, though, so clear and so obvious he felt stupid he didn't think of it before.

"There is one thing," Harry said exhaustedly. Kingsley didn't respond, but his eyes widened eagerly. "Could they have been searching for the ring? The resurrection stone." A look of confusion crossed Kingsley's face but only briefly. Harry knew that there was only one person in the entire world that he had told his story too, beginning to end. The whole of it would be neither necessary nor appropriate to divulge to Kingsley, but he would need to know the Tale of the Three Brothers. And he would need to know that the cloak and the wand were real and that the ring was real and was sitting in the forest, untouched since last May—unless someone had gotten to it. In short, Harry would have a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

Ginny was sitting on one end of a squashy couch and Hermione on the other. Ginny was writing an essay for Flitwick and Hermione was translating a piece for Ancient Runes. The fire was crackling in front of them and rain was still coming down outside. Everything about the scene seemed so normal. The presence of Bill at Hogwarts every day brightened Ginny's mood considerably. It hadn't been a bad first day back. And even though the rest of the castle seemed cold, uninviting, and triggered new memories that seemed to overwhelm Ginny right now, the warm, red, comfortable Gryffindor Common room still felt like home.

Ginny had just measured her essay and gloomily noted that she still needed another four inches by fifth period tomorrow. She was about to roll up the parchment and call it quits for the night when she thought of something.

"Hermione?"

"Mmhmm?"

"On the train . . . you sort of yelled something—and then you fell asleep. I just thought you might have figured something out. You get excited when you figure important things out," Ginny said. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"Upstairs," Hermione said.

Ginny abandoned the neat rolling of her essay, balled up the parchment in her fist, and jammed it in the side pocket of her bag before racing upstairs. Seeing as it was only Ginny, Demelza, and Hermione rooming in the seventh year girls' dormitory now, it was the prime location for holding conversations not meant to be overheard.

Hermione trudged up the stairs a few short minutes later.

"Do you remember how everyone thought Voldemort was dead when he couldn't kill Harry?"

Ginny nodded. Of course she didn't _remember_, really, she had been only two months old at the time. But she had heard the stories, enough to last her a lifetime, and it felt like she remembered.

"But he wasn't. He was still living. Not a human anymore, more of an existence. But Voldemort rose to power again, fourteen years later. He was mad about that, really upset that none of his followers came to help him. Harry said he was furious with Lucius Malfoy, his second in command." Ginny had heard that story, straight from Harry's mouth.

"And?"

"_And_" pressed Hermione, "I don't think Lucius Malfoy would want to cross Voldemort twice, even if he does have the excuse of being locked up in Azkaban."

"So?"

"_So_, I think he, Narcissa, and Draco would do anything to prove their loyalty to Voldemort. I think these unfortunate events aren't just a series of unrelated coincidences. I think they're trying to regain Voldemort's trust, get on his good side."

"Yes, but Hermione, Voldemort's dead."

"That's the kicker isn't it? The Death Eaters don't know that. Most of them aren't educated and don't know about Horcruxes—or if they do, Voldemort would have never admitted that all of his were destroyed. I don't think they think Voldemort's really truly dead. They think it's like last time, don't they!" Hermione's voice rose to a shrill shriek that normally happened when she was on to something. Her face was red and sweaty, and she was standing, taller than Ginny.

"And they'd do anything to spare themselves a little slack. Get Voldemort back alive before he finds a way to come back himself and is furious at them for being stupid tosspots a second time. But how, Hermione? What can they do?"

"One thing at a time. I haven't figured that part out yet."

"But you think the Malfoys are the driving force? Because you know Draco's attempts to kill Dumbledore sixth year were pretty lame."

"I think Narcissa is a _lot_ more intelligent than she puts out. She is a Black, after all." Hermione's tone was streaked with a dusting of worry.

"So what do we do with this information?"

Again Hermione had no answer.

* * *

**Sammie**


End file.
